I want to be a writer, Is that anyone else's dream?

I wrote this hoping others would relate...Its called: World, Forget Me (I am not in danger)

TW: Hints at suicide

The sun had barely risen when I stood at the edge of the cliff, my feet balanced on the precipice, staring out at the endless sea. The world, vast and unfathomable, stretched before me, indifferent to my existence. I wondered if it would even notice when I was gone.

World, forget me.

I had whispered those words to myself in the quiet moments of the night, when the weight of the past seemed unbearable, when all the mistakes, all the regrets, pressed upon my chest like a stone. There had been a time when I mattered—when I was someone people knew and cared about. But that had slipped away, as time has a habit of doing. Relationships faded. Faces blurred. Memories slipped into the haze.

The breeze whipped through my hair, and I could feel the chill in the air, the salt from the sea stinging my skin. The world didn’t need me. And, in truth, I didn’t need it either. I had been broken too many times, discarded, overlooked, and then left behind. I had come to terms with the idea that I was a speck in the grand universe—insignificant, small, and soon to be forgotten.

My phone buzzed in my pocket, pulling me back from my thoughts. A message. I hesitated for a moment, then pulled it out. A simple message from an old friend, someone I hadn't spoken to in years:

"Are you okay?"

I stared at the screen. Was I okay? Was I ever okay?

I wanted to type something, anything to explain. To reach out, to say, "No, I’m not okay," but my fingers didn’t move. The words felt too heavy to say. Too much of a burden to place on anyone. They wouldn’t understand. None of them ever did.

Instead, I typed something that wasn’t true: "I'm fine. Don't worry about me."

I hit send, then stared at the screen for what felt like hours, waiting for a response that would never come. I knew it was pointless. People came and went. That’s how life worked.

The world wouldn’t remember me in any meaningful way. Not my name, not my face, not even the sound of my voice. I wasn’t important. And maybe that was for the best.

I took a deep breath, feeling the wind against my skin, letting it fill my lungs. The world, vast as it was, had no memory of me—nor would it ever. But in that moment, I felt a strange sense of peace.

Because if the world forgot me, then I could finally forget myself too. I could disappear without a trace, without anyone caring. I could leave behind all the pain, all the scars, all the burdens that had tied me to this place, this time, this life.

A gust of wind blew across the cliff, and I closed my eyes, embracing the cold. I took one last look at the horizon, the world stretching infinitely before me, both beautiful and cruel.

And I stepped forward.