Passengers: I have left an entrance in my note-taking software for my longing.

I couldn’t stop because of death, he stopped for me considerately. It’s just us and eternity in the carriage.

——American poet Emily Dickinson

I opened a page of notes called Passengers in the [note-taking software] (/blog/anytype-claude-second-brain) that I am most accustomed to and trust the most.

This page of notes is very simple, with no fancy layout and no redundant explanations.

There are just a bunch of links on it - those are friends I have lost one after another in the past few years, their Facebook personal pages, posts, photo albums, or certain messages that I have collected. To outsiders, they may just be some websites; but to me, they are several periods of life, a few laughters, and several daily routines that I thought I would never see again.

I named it Passengers, not because I wanted to think of anyone as a passer-by. Quite the opposite - that’s because I understand more and more:

We are all each other’s passengers on this journey.

It is true that some people have traveled a long way with you. You stayed up late together, worked hard together, talked about dreams together, and complained about the absurdity of life together; you believed in certain things at the same time, and even made a decision at the same intersection. Later, life is like a train entering a station. Some people get off and others get on. You know clearly that it is a natural flow, but you will still suddenly be stunned at certain moments - it turns out that he is no longer here, and it turns out that “Let’s talk next time” actually has no next time.

The light on the screen is very dim, and so is the room.

So when I miss them, I often don’t do anything dramatic. I will just silently open this page of Passengers late at night, or during a sudden quiet moment.

The light from the screen is very dim, and so is the room.

I looked at those familiar names like looking at a private flight schedule.

Each link is a seat number, pointing to a time that I have been a part of.

I’ll click in and take a look. Maybe it’s an old photo - they are smiling happily, and the background is a restaurant or street corner that you can’t remember; maybe it’s a piece of text they wrote - you thought it was ordinary at the time, but now every word feels like an echo; maybe it’s just the date of that person’s last update, quietly stopped on a certain day, like time being knotted there.

I won’t necessarily cry.

Most of the time, I just sit, silent, and let some pictures emerge in my mind: like that time we walked together, that joke that is not really important, but you still remember it, that kind of tacit understanding that only you two understand. Those details are like tiny light spots, which are not dazzling, but can illuminate an entire period of time.

If they are still there

Of course, I will also wonder: If they were still here, what would they be doing now? Could it be possible that one night, he would also slide to the same song, the same news, the same punchline, and then throw it to me? Will you say something that seems casual but actually understands me very well, like you did before?

Sometimes I would say a few words to them in my mind.

It’s not a religious prayer, but a kind of thinking about life:

“I’m doing fine lately.” “Hey, I remember you.” “I only understand what you said back then.” “Don’t worry, you will not be forgotten by me.”

A small commemorative ceremony

This page of Passengers is like a small memorial ceremony for me.

No flowers, no music, no announcements.

Only I know:

In this era where the world is getting faster and faster, and it is easier and easier to scatter people, I am still willing to use a little time to save your place.

I also gradually learned:

Missing is not a weakness, it is a precious ability. Because missing means that you have truly devoted yourself to someone, put certain people into your life, and are willing to keep that connection well after they leave.

So every time I close the Passengers page and the screen goes dark, I will say something silently in my heart - I hope everything is well with my friends in heaven.

I also hope that while I am still on this journey, I can continue to move forward with the gentleness and strength you have brought to me.

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Further reading:

• Build your second brain: I used Anytype and Claude to build a personal knowledge management system
• Ten Life Insights from Alex Honnold: A Rock Climber’s Philosophy of Life

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