My sadness is that I’m not going to get one of those small lives either: no love story, no kids, no family. Just me, alone until the end. The only way to kind of make up for that is to have a life of meaning, so that the world will want to remember me.

There’s the idea that we die twice: the first time, when our bodies die; the second, the last time somebody remembers us. I don’t want my deaths to happen at the same time. And that’s the way this circle’s going.

I appreciate that you see something in me. I really and truly do. I just envy that it isn’t something more. Something better. Something worth being, you know?

I’ve only read one of O’Conner’s stories — A Good Man is Hard to Find. (We read it in school and I actually loved it!) And I’d definitely love to read more. (I’ll attach a private note with my address.)

Thank you!