I want to feel alive, create waves on the internet’s shore,
I want to poke the mesh with a needle, let ripples explore,
I want eternity in this light, my code to emphasize,
I want to be eternal, but I know I wouldn’t realize.
I’ve been writing for my past self for most of my life. I’ve written phrases, poems, and essays about what I have felt, experienced, and known. I write to learn, like formatted personal notes, about a topic to make it easier for me to give it structure.
I’ve been writing for my future self too, trying to capture what I’m currently feeling and experiencing so I can reflect in the future and realize that time has passed, that I’ve grown up, and that I have come a long way.
I remember when I was in my twenties, and I found some of my blog posts that I used to have in a blog called Dislexias when I was 13 years old. This was the blog I used to write everything I thought, even my darkest thoughts. When I read it, I was pretty surprised, in my opinion, I felt like I was pretty depressed, but now I felt different when I read it back.
This same feeling has occurred multiple times during my adulthood, since I’ve never stopped writing. I jot down small fragments in my Google Keep, I write in infinite notebooks, and on empty pieces of paper whenever I think of something. I even have multiple Obsidian vaults.
I want to be old and remember that everything I’ve lived has been written. It’s out there for someone else to discover in case they find it and it resonates with their thoughts.
Its the ultimate time travel experience: being able to communicate from the past to the future through echoes of text. Where the person reading can identify and connect with me, even when I’m gone, and simply feel more alive than before.
At least just for a second.