Thankyou for being my friend.

It hit me today when I heard that same song again. Oh God, why am I doing this? Here we go.

I must have been 17, though the details are hazy now. All I have is this faint, blurry memory of a version of me going through something I can’t even fully grasp anymore—isolated, with no one to confide in. Back then, I used to wander through random sites, looking for distractions, for anything that could keep my mind busy. That’s where I met someone—a stranger, anonymous, yet someone I could talk to effortlessly.

It didn’t stay anonymous for long; we shared little bits of who we were, enough to feel less like strangers and more like... allies. We were just teenagers, lost in our own worlds, but somehow, we understood each other. We became a kind of support system for one another, even if only for a while.

I don’t remember all the details, but I do remember that I was an open book with him. The things I should have told my doctor—the things that terrified me to speak out loud—I told him. I needed someone to hear me without judgment, and he did. He listened when I needed it the most, and he never judged. I listened to him too.

I can’t recall how it all ended, how we stopped talking, but there’s one thing that stayed with me. He sent me an audio note once, singing "If the World Was Ending." I can’t remember his name now or where he was from. But hey, if by some miracle you ever read this—I made it. And I owe a part of that to you.

Thank you for being there, even if it was only for a short time. Thank you for listening, for giving me hope when I was clinging to my last thread. You don’t know this, but you became the lifeline that saved me when I was on the edge.

You deserve all the happiness and love this world has to offer. I hope you’ve become the incredible singer you always dreamed of being. You deserve that and so much more.