;_;
Okay now that my face isn't a hot mess of tears and snot
The whole idea of striving to be remembered, to have some place in people's hearts and minds really resonated with me. As a writer, I understand that very painfully: the entire goal is an intensely arrogant one, of wanting people to care about you for no good reason other than that you make them feel things for what is ultimately fiction. It's a fundamental test of empathy that will not necessarily succeed, and when you emotionally and physically invest yourself into something as thoroughly as you must with the arts, rejection becomes not only a rebuke of your profession, but of your very soul. Somehow, despite this pressure, there are still artists in the world.
I'm terribly afraid of dying, not because I fear the pain or the slow descent to death, but because if I die now I'll die knowing I meant nothing to the world. For some people, it's enough to mean something to their friends and their family, the people close to them; but for artists, nothing less than the appreciation and admiration of countless strangers will do. The hope is that, through your art, you can inspire people so that they never forget you, and hold you in their hearts as a person and a life to be remembered. I don't think there's any form of love stronger than that.