One Sentence Worth Keeping

I write a lot, maybe too much, chasing a dream that's a little ridiculous: to leave behind one sentence that outlives me.

Not a fortune. Not a monument. Not some heroic account of wars and conquests and how many people we managed to kill.

Just a few words that someone might stumble on a hundred years from now and think, "That's exactly right."

I'd like to leave something that helps a person think, laugh, question themselves, be a little kinder, or simply stop being an idiot for five minutes. I'm still working on that last one myself.

Wealth disappears. Empires collapse. Most of what we own ends up in the garbage. But a good idea can travel for centuries without a suitcase.

So I keep writing, hoping that somewhere in all these pages there's one small sentence worth keeping.

A Few Words After I'm Gone

I write in the morning and I write at night,
mostly to figure out what I actually think.
Most of it won't last, and I know that.

I'm not after money.
I've seen what money does when it's the only goal.
I'm not after a statue either.
Pigeons have opinions about statues.

Kings get buried. Fortunes run out.
The stuff we fight over ends up at the curb.

What I'd like is smaller than all that.
One honest sentence.
Something true enough that it keeps going after I stop.

Maybe it lands with a stranger I'll never meet.
Maybe it helps someone breathe a little easier,
or forgive someone,
or just be kind to the next person they see.

If one line makes it that far,
then all the pages, the rewrites, and the sleepless nights
were worth it.

And if none of it does,
I still got to spend my life looking for it.
That's not a bad way to spend a life.