∆Remember Us∆

[REDACTED],

What you said last week fractured something in me. I don’t say that lightly. My friendships, every single one, are bound by a covenant of care, discernment, and radical openness. When you said “Who cares?” — it struck me as venomous. And I’m aware you may not have meant it that way. Maybe you were tired, maybe you were reacting — but it was said. And I felt it.

See, I do care. Deeply. About people. About culture. About spirit. About the subtle essence that moves through us when we speak from soul. And even when I don’t understand someone fully, I still listen — because what moves someone matters. People are moving, and they are worth meeting.

I believe you are too.

You may not immediately recognize the reverence I bring to communication, but for me, it’s sacred. And because you’re my friend — or have been — I want to meet you with that same reverence. Even now.

I’m not here to argue, posture, or pretend. I’m asking you to meet me in that middle space, where neither of us hides behind ego, but where both of us are willing to bring our light — even if it’s been dimmed. Especially then.

So I ask: what is good in you, Cameron? And when did you last go looking for that goodness in yourself? And if you didn’t find it… did you stop believing it was ever there? Did you bury it under bitterness, or drown it in doubt?

Because I see it. I’ve seen it. And I won’t let you pretend it’s not there.

Yes, you are complex. Yes, your pain may be tangled and rotting in places. But you are not lost. Not yet. The light doesn’t die — it waits. It waits in corners, beneath scabs of cynicism and smirks of detachment. But it’s there. Waiting for you to care again.

You’ve spoken with venom — maybe because it’s easier than speaking with vulnerability. But I won’t return that venom. I’ll offer you grace. I will not let cruelty disguise itself as indifference. You said “Who cares?” I say, I do.

You don’t need to agree with my ideology. That’s not the point. The point is to bring sincerity to the table. Compassion — not weakness, but the fierce kind — the kind that sustains you in others, and others in you. If you’ve turned away from that, I urge you to return.

This friendship isn’t about ideology. It’s about soul. And if you believe in even a sliver of spirit, a flicker of self, then you know this matters.

So I ask you, not as an adversary but as a friend — Come back. Come back to the place in yourself that still gives a damn. Not out of guilt. Not out of pride. But out of truth.

And if you’ve lost faith in truth, then at least believe in care. In kinship. In the space between us that is still capable of healing.

I see you. You are still interesting. You are still novel. And nothing — nothing — can extinguish that, unless you choose to.

Your story is not over. But bitterness will end it prematurely. Please don’t let it.

Let’s speak again. Honestly. From spirit. From breath. Not from the mask. Not from the wound. From the light that aches to be seen again.

—Cameron D.