Storytelling is the last rebellion.
The final defiance against the silence drawing near.
To speak, even when you have nothing left—
to carve your breath into the cold air
to leave behind a thread of yourself
for strangers whose faces you will never see
this is all that remains.
Tell it.
Even if no one listens.
Even if your voice is broken, or wrong, or small.
Tell it because you are disappearing.
because you were never guaranteed anything—
not survival, not memory, not love.
Tell it because the act of speaking is
the only mark you leave on a world that forgets everything.
You were here.
You sang.
You mattered.
And then you were gone.
But the story—
the story might remain.
And somewhere in it
Beyond the silence,
You might also live.