I’m still here. The view is stunning across the vast ocean even though the white cliffs of Dover, once momentous in their beauty, are nearly immersed by the ocean’s wrath. The sun lingers closely now, and I can only venture out to look over the waves when the moon and stars are shining across the expanse of the night sky. I think the universe is really angry. We were careless and neglectful of our earthly treasures. I don’t blame it, but it’s taking aim at our beloved landmarks, completely innocent of man’s foul deeds It’s like I’m lost somewhere on the edge of tomorrow’s promise, fearing the unknown. What more can happen? I wonder. I can’t imagine what the next century will bring to these once loved cliffs – if they manage to survive the onslaught of the sun's rays. Only twenty-seven more years before we'll see.

Even though I’m all alone here, I’m not really lonely. You know me – I’ve always been an introvert and enjoyed my time with me. I spend my days writing, often nonsensical notes (like this) to imaginary friends (like you), and in my world, I’ve already managed to publish my twenty-second novel. Gee, but can you believe it? My twenty-first novel is up for the Pulitzer Prize. Guess there are some perks to this imaginary, solitary existence.

Well, until we meet again, may the force be with you (not sure what that actually means, but may it be with you all the same)....

Kyle,

man as promised! i really hope you get this note. You'd not believe how difficult it was to secure this postcard for you. Cut it myself from plastic. Paper a thing of the past! ..the postage stamp?? All sorts of hoops 'n hurdles online to get a fancy barcode to burn on it in a 3D printer i had to borrow. Cost me $30 ikr? like wtf? Water scarce. Invest in Reverse Osmosis. Am dripping shot glass right now. It's 142 out, ℉. Haven't seen sun or shore, we travel tunnels underground. Not brown tho. All hung with protest Art, scorches & bullet holes. I'd say "wish you were here," but really? you'll prob get this after i return, hopefully not in a bag— 7v7

Greetings from sunny Florida. In my opinion, perhaps a little too sunny. “Go on vacation,” you said. “You don’t want to miss experiencing Disney World before they shut it down this summer!” Did you mean, experience what’s left of it? Because it’s kinda hard to enjoy the so called most magical place on earth, when the roads are melting and heat is pretty much radiating off of the rides. Who would ever have thought that in the year, 2073, I would be waiting in line, sweltering, more burned than tan, and wearing that very strong sunblock you (oh so helpfully suggested) to find myself on a roller coaster hanging over the ocean! Did I mention that the ocean levels are rising again? Maybe those Climate Change people were actually onto something when they started giving us those early warnings in 2023. I mean a large chunk of Florida is now completely under water and another evacuation just took place yesterday. Now that I mention it, I actually think I can hear the sirens now, but hopefully that’s just in my imagination. Anyways, I’m starting to run out of room on this postcard, but I simply can’t thank you enough for convincing me to go on this vacation and just wanted to say:

Wish you were here.

We arrived yesterday. I’m still recovering from the plane ride. Marissa and Billy seem fine, though.

I left the hotel late this morning to join them on the beach. The road to the sand dunes is not well kept and once you get there, everyone is trying to sell you something. The weather is nice. Beats the storm season back home. There's still a small portion of natural forest left near the coastal area. The enterprising Brazilians are building hotels everywhere. But the Amazon sea! Oh, man! It stretches forever all clear and green. The river is completely gone. After only a few years. I do remember it. I did a bit of research with Esther, my first wife, on the relocation of tribes in this area. Actually, I think it was a bit further east, but it doesn’t matter. And it all looks the same now anyway. I was so happy to hear about the growing interest in my work. I plan to re-visit some of the camps during our vacation. Difficult to stomach but maybe there’s another book in there somewhere.

It’s close to noon. Billy is on the beach, building sandcastles. Marissa is flipping through a brochure, pointing out old images of lush vegetation and strange creatures. Apparently, there's a zoo nearby that has these things on display. We’ll take Billy there tomorrow. He’s absolutely thrilled about it.

I hope you are well. I’ll let you know if it’s worth coming back here.

I could be weeks, days, maybe even moments from the death of us all. I could be sending this letter as my own contribution to my obituary. Things are different now - the end seems to loom over us in a way that is more obvious than before. It's not a blip in time, not a lightning strike that we can forget about, not a storm we can take shelter from. It lingers, hangs on all of our shoulders. But, what I have learned from my time here is that the human experience is two things - pain and love. Yes, the pain is unspoken, but it's heavy, it's palpable like a fog that fills the room. But, when death constantly stares us in the face, when we have to look it straight in the eyes every day, it becomes nothing. It becomes nothing, but a reminder to say "I love you" before you leave. We love harder now. It's not a hesitant thing like it used to be. Love hits us all at once, as it always has - the only difference is that we don't run from it. We run towards it. Death has to be acknowledged every day, but so does life. The only thing that is more human, more alive, than pain, is love.

I might not make it back from this vacation, and if not, I want my last words to be these: I love you, and I'm not afraid to say it.