खो गए हम कहाँ

First things first - is it a thing where a model can crawl through the web (given a link as input), train itself on it, and then become a customized LLM? If not, that is a goldmine (if it is plausible, which I'm not entirely sure it is). Something you said a while ago inspired this, so it's basically your idea. Look into it? Or not, I mean. If you can expand on it and somehow become a raging millionaire, I'd at least be worthy of having my apologies heard. Because frankly, at the moment, I wouldn't know where to begin. Love, gratitude. Remorse? You remember how I used to believe in The One? And how I don't anymore, precisely because you came along and debunked that theory? Well, I do think that there is a certain someone out there for everybody, somebody who touches your life in unexplainable ways. A writer who moves people with their words from the beyond. A pianist who casts a spell with their sound on somebody sitting thousands of miles away. Perhaps you are my someone, because I can't imagine life going back to what it was before you, for more reasons than one. You have earned those three marks over me for the rest of our lives, and I couldn't be happier seeing anybody else up on that board. Can't say I know where life takes us from here, but do me a favor and store something in that big, beautiful brain of yours? When I look at the stars, I know they're shining for you.

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I've been going through your emails since the past few days. Cliché to communicate over mail, but hey, we'd want something to reminisce about the journey, wouldn't we? I hope you're being smarter than I am (when were you not?) and aren't on the other end of this. At least not for a while. Okay, now the truth? I hope you are. I hear you're doing well. That helps. The truth, again? I wish I could see it for myself, even if it were just for a second.

I told my sister everything earlier today. Everything, right up until the end. The end? The pause? Well, you know what I mean. All she said was, "you're in love, aren't you?". I didn't know how to respond to that. But I instantly knew I'd be writing tonight.

I've done a lot of shit in the relatively short life I've lived. A lot. I've hurt some good people. Grown distant. Cut off, even. I have been selfish and foolish and emotionally immature and everything that is the opposite of what you claim I am. But I've always been able to justify it in my head. Even if the reason were wrong, it was right to me, and that's all that mattered. That's how I coped. You see where I'm heading?

How do I cope with this? How do I spin this so that my conscience doesn't feel like scum every second of every day? People tell me I was honest through the whole thing, courageous. And that's more than what most people can muster strength for. That would have probably made me feel really good if it didn't make me feel so wretched. There aren't enough combinations in the English language to describe how it feels when you have to live with the knowledge that you're the reason why somebody you love is in pain. I'm sorry. I wish there were a way to let you know how much. I wish I could do better. I wish the story you were looking for could remain unblemished.

I dreamt about you the other day. It was maybe two decades in the future? We looked happy. It was just as how I'd imagined us to be when we were us. You wrote once that it's funny how you think you know what you want, only to experientially invalidate everything about it. Amen to that. You know how people tell you to clean your life of all memories to be able to move forward? I did that a few months ago. Well, almost. Most things, except the songs on my playlist. Your songs. One would think they'd upset me, but I think I smile my brightest when they play on my shuffle. Sometimes I wonder what kind of music have you been listening to. Relating with? I wonder if it's songs like these. I'm strangely obsessed with this. Yes, I know my brain is weird and probably lowkey masochistic, but that is one beautiful piece of art.

I know you. I know how you function. So, I'm fine, or I will be. Don't you worry about me. I want you to go get some happy. Live your twenties the way you're supposed to. Have fun, be a little idiotic. Indulge in your adventures, do everything you wanted to. Take care of yourself? And I promise, I'll be here ready to hear about it all, if you'll ever want to find your way back.

There are so many things I could tell you, so many emotions to express. But I'm particularly vulnerable today, and I fear I may not stop on this platform. So, I'll leave this here. Everything about me this year? All of it has been about you. Every aspect has had your influence, and every decision has had your essence. My career, my dreams, my awakening. My rights and wrongs and lows and highs. I wanted to drown every sorrow in you, share every joy. The voice in my head craves for the one that is in yours, because it knows nobody could care more, not even me, on occasion. Nothing about me will be the same, because it's been the year of you. You, Mr. Darcy, are my open letter to the year. I'm wildly ecstatic about that, and you're the reason why. Guess I never needed the lights to guide me home, just the kindest heart in the galaxy.