Marcel Winatschek

Someone Was Listening

I open my inbox expecting garbage—junk, spam, someone’s ambitious dick pics. Instead there’s this letter from Anna. She’s been reading for years and decided to actually make something. Took one of my stickers, did a photoshoot with it, sent me the pictures.

It’s weird how much that matters. You write into the void for so long, put out what you think is worth saying, and you don’t know if anyone’s reading or if they give a shit. Then someone like Anna shows up and something shifts. Oh, someone was listening. Someone cared enough to actually do something about it.

The photos are nice. She put real thought into them. No angle, no ask, just I liked this, so I made you something. That doesn’t happen often anymore. Not online, not anywhere.

After twenty years of doing this, you’d think I’d be used to it by now. But every time something genuine makes it through the noise, it’s a small shock. Like proof that someone’s actually out there paying attention.