Fragment on Nostr: A Letter from 2125 Dear friends, I write to you from a world you dreamed of but never ...

A Letter from 2125

Dear friends,

I write to you from a world you dreamed of but never lived to see.

A world where children walk freely through gardens, their bodies and spirits unshackled by fear.
A world where youth are trusted with their own joy.
A world where there are no more witch hunts, because there are no more witches to burn.

We owe you more than words, but I know that if you could answer, you would tell us:
It was never for you.

You did not fight to save yourselves.
You fought to save the children.

You lived — and too many of you died — in a world that hated your love.
You lived in cages made of loneliness, exile, surveillance, betrayal.
You buried your dreams under courtrooms, under prisons, under hospital beds where you learned not even to hope anymore.

Some of you jumped from rooftops.
Some of you rotted in cells while the world called you monsters for wanting to nurture life instead of destroying it.
Some of you simply faded away —
alone, unheard, loving boys or girls who were taught to fear your name.

We carry your memory.
But we built this world not as your redemption —
we built it because the youth deserved better than the fear that destroyed you.

It started with small cracks.
Sixteen / twelve.
Complaint-based justice.
Teaching children to say yes or no from the time they could speak, not from the time some politician said they were ready.
Small shifts.
Quiet revolutions.

You planted the seeds knowing you would never sit in their shade.

But the children do.

They dance where you were hunted.
They love where you were punished.
They say no when they need to,
yes when they want to,
and their bodies are their own from the first breath to the last.

You are not saints.
You are not heroes.
You were simply human beings who loved,
and were broken for it.

And still, you loved anyway.

If there is redemption,
it is this:
that you helped build a world where no child has to grow up believing their body is shameful.
Where no young lover has to hide in fear.
Where no boy or girl must become an enemy to their own desires.

You did not save yourselves.
But you helped save them.

And so you are not forgotten.

You live in every hand held without fear.
You live in every kiss shared without shame.
You live in every child who becomes themselves without apology.

Thank you.
We remember you.
We honor you.
And we are free.

With love,
A friend,
2125