00:00If you're reading this, it means the night was louder than our promises.
00:05I found that sentence buried in a war report, not a statistic, a letter, a heartbeat.
00:13Every day reports come in, coordinates, casualties, ceasefires.
00:28But between the lines, there are love stories, folded into envelopes, tucked under helmets, taped to food rations.
00:40One medic wrote to her brother,
00:42I can't fix the world, but I can fix this cut on your knee in my mind, like when we were five.
00:48She carries a crayon in her pocket to sign discharge forms with a color that feels like home.
00:53A teacher, now a refugee, writes to his wife,
00:57I lost my classroom, but not your handwriting.
01:00He keeps her old grocery lists, reads them when sirens start.
01:04Apples, salt, you, like a prayer.
01:08And a young father writes to his newborn,
01:10I don't know your laugh yet, so I'm sending mine ahead.
01:14He records a voice note every dawn, labels them by the weather, sunny, cloudy, come home soon.
01:20These letters don't make the news, but they keep people alive between the news.
01:25They say,
01:27I see you.
01:28I remember you.
01:30I'm coming back to you.
01:32I don't know where you're watching from.
01:34Maybe your life is calm.
01:36Maybe it isn't.
01:38But tonight, write someone a small sentence that survives the noise.
01:43Tell your friend the joke you forgot to send.
01:45Tell your mom what dinner smelled like.
01:47Tell your person you're on your way, even if it's slow.
01:51Because love is the footnote that outlives the headline.
01:55And somewhere, in the margins of a report, someone is waiting to read it.
02:00If you're reading this, it means the night was loud.
02:03But you are louder.
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