〘 11 ⋆ 20 ⋆ 2042 〙

Subject: Connecting with i133 again.

During the preceding night, a profound sense of hopelessness pervaded my thoughts. In what I perceived as my final attempt to reestablish contact with i133, I laid bare my feelings, confessing to what seemed like an almost obsessive quest to locate him across various platforms. Expecting my messages to vanish into the digital void as they often did, I was caught off guard when, unexpectedly, a message materialized. Initially suspecting an automated response, my emotional floodgates opened as I realized it was indeed him.

A surge of relief cascaded through me, yet the intensity of emotions was overwhelming. Tears streamed down my face, and my entire body quivered, with an unusual sensation gripping my stomach, as if its internal workings were momentarily losing control. What had initially felt like staring into a void devoid of hope suddenly transformed into a rekindled connection. After a hiatus of two months and sixteen days, he finally responded, marking a poignant moment of renewed communication.

It resembled a glitched instance, a scenario where our attempts at communication were strenuous due to a faltering internet connection. It felt as though I was navigating a dated messaging platform from the late 2000s, a far cry from the usual fluidity of our interactions on Instagram. The messaging experience was notably different; there were no indicators for when the person was typing, and the usual read receipts were conspicuously absent.

He shared his recent battle with relapse thoughts, recounting a mental breakdown just a week ago. It pained my pixelated heart to learn that he was grappling with these challenges too. While he acknowledged some disruptive behavior, he assured me he hadn't succumbed to a full relapse, thankfully. Oddly, there was an inclination within me to join him in that struggle, a desire to share the burden so that he wouldn't feel isolated. It seemed like a peculiar way of expressing my love—falling down with someone to ensure they're not alone. His struggle began at the tender age of 11, whereas mine, a comparatively brief episode, occurred at 18. Nevertheless, I am determined to hold his virtual hand and guide us out of that dark space if it ever looms again.

He had homework due by midnight, and that's when his replies ceased. It was as if the signal had abruptly cut off. As I wandered, my body seemed to succumb to a surge of emotions. It was like an internal battle, my physical self wrestling with the overwhelming emotions, but eventually yielding. In that moment, I experienced a profound sense of disconnection, yet an oddly comforting floatiness embraced me.

[November 20, 2042. - 12:40]