"I wonder who remembers me. I consider all the things I've said, all the actions I've taken, words I've typed, notes I've sung. To whom is this memorable? To me? To anyone else? To the people to whom these actions were directed? I should hope so. But I don't know."
In 1.5 hours, it will be the two-year anniversary of this post. It is an excerpt from an entry from an old, private, discontinued blog of mine that nearly none of you have or ever will see. But neither of these facts are important. My feelings aren't cyclic with an annual or biannual period. Neither are they recurrent in any even seemingly ordered fashion. Perhaps a lot of my feelings will reside entirely in the past. Anyway. I wrote this entry at a time when I felt cynically about people, and the friendships that I'd made.
I've been spending a lot of time with old friends and colleagues as of late. These words have trickled their way into my thoughts, resonating in the back of my mind all week. To whom is this memorable? To me? To the people to whom [the things I've said, words I've typed] were directed?
It's taken me two years minus 1.5 hours to be able to answer with certainty. To both of us.