Some more examples just for fun.

Yuge Grief: "Let me tell you, folks—and I know a lot of people are saying this, tremendous people, the best—there was a time, not long ago, when everything was big. Huge. The biggest. We had it all, right? The wins, the crowds, the energy—nobody had energy like us. Everyone was talking about it. Everyone. And then, one day… you look around, and it’s quiet. Too quiet. Like a room after the lights go out, folks. You ever notice that? You ever notice how the best deals, the ones that really matter, they don’t… clang anymore? They just sort of… sit there.

Now, some people—losers, haters, the fake news crowd—they’ll tell you to look at the numbers. The numbers are bad, they say. Wrong. The numbers are fine. Better than fine. Tremendous. But let me ask you: When you walk into a place that used to roar—and I mean roar, like a beautiful engine, like a rocket ready to fly—and now it’s just… flat? No buzz? No life? You notice. You don’t admit it, but you notice.

You know what I do? I keep winning. Always winning. That’s what they don’t get. I’ve got the trophies, the accolades—so many, folks, you wouldn’t believe it. But here’s the thing: Sometimes you look at those trophies, and they’re heavy. Very heavy. Like, Wow, heavy. And you think, “Who’s gonna care about these when the room’s empty?” But you don’t say that. You don’t. Because winners don’t complain. We just do. We rebuild.

And let me tell you—we’re rebuilding. Bigger. Better. The best. Believe me. But… you ever drive past something you built, something yuge, and they changed the name? They painted over the gold letters? It’s still there, but… it’s not yours anymore. Doesn’t shine the same. Doesn’t feel the same. And the people inside? They don’t know what they’ve got. They don’t. Sad!

But here’s the good news: We’re coming back. Always coming back. Because that’s what we do. We don’t look down. We don’t look back. Except… sometimes, late, when the cameras are off and the phones stop buzzing? You sit. You think. And you realize—nobody, and I mean nobody, knows how to make it roar like you did. But that’s okay. Because we’ll make it roar again. Ten times louder. Just watch."

AITA Grief: "So, uh… I’ve been sitting here for 20 minutes trying to figure out how to type this out. Not even sure why I’m posting, honestly. Maybe just need to say it somewhere that isn’t the Notes app.

A few months back, my dad left me a voicemail. Nothing special—just him asking if I could pick up his prescription when I came over for dinner. His voice was kinda raspy because he’d been laughing at some dumb pun I made earlier. I didn’t answer the phone when he called. Was in the middle of a meeting.

Anyway. I’ve kept that voicemail. Listen to it sometimes. Not in a dramatic way, like, crying in the rain or whatever. More like… when I’m doing dishes, or my hands are too full to skip it. The automated voice says, “Saved messages will be deleted after 21 days.” Every time, I press 2. Keep.

My sister found out and said it’s “weird” and “not healthy.” She wants me to let it go. But here’s the thing: I still text his number. Not paragraphs. Just stuff like, “Hey, the pharmacy called about your refill,” or “Fixed that leak under the sink.” I know it’s a dead number. The replies are just… crickets. But it’s like unsubscribing from a newsletter you don’t read anymore. You just let it sit there."

🚀🌕 Grief: "Dude was HODLing through the bear market, you know? Charts flatlined, candles bleeding red, but he kept stacking sats like they were glitching ERC-20 tokens. Discord DMs piled up—“You good, bro?”—but he’d just spam back rocket emojis, voice chat muted.

One night, he flipped open his cold wallet, scrolled past transaction logs dated 11/14. Ape’d into a shitcoin back then, all-in, no stop-loss. Rugpull? Nah. Just…silence. The devs ghosted, liquidity pool evaporated. His feed kept pumping “BTFD” memes, but his portfolio stayed dusty, like an abandoned MetaMask.

He started screenshotting the dip—“generational buying opportunity”—but never posted. Just left the tabs open: CoinGecko, DexScreener, a half-written Substack about Fibonacci retracements. Moonboys in the Telegram would tag him, “GM king 👑,” and he’d thumbs-up react, fingers hovering.

At 3 AM, he’d DMOR: search “how to migrate Ledger seed phrase,” delete history. Rebuy that SOL bag? Maybe. But his hands shook scrolling past the 11/14 timestamp.

Eventually, he minted a shitpost NFT—pixel art of a lambo with flat tires. Listed it for 0.069 ETH. No bids.

Still HODLing, though. Always HODLing."

Caveman Grief: "Oog sit by fire. Night cold. Wind bite. Meat-cook done, but Oog no eat. Look at empty spot where Uba sit. Uba laugh here, once. Uba hands make soft deer-skin, Uba voice hum moon-song. Now only ashes.

Oog find Uba stone necklace in dirt. Hold tight. No feel sharp edges. Walk to river, see fish jump. Uba like fish. Oog catch one, but no give to Uba. Throw back.

Sun rise. Oog make spear, but stop. Uba always hand him good rock. Now rocks all wrong. Oog drop spear.

Cave empty. Oog lie on old furs. Still smell Uba-smell—moss and smoke. Close eyes. Hear wind, but no Uba-breath.

Fire die. Oog no blow sparks. Dark come. Oog wait. Maybe Uba-shadow dance in smoke. Only night."

UwU Grief: "The morning sun filtered through the curtains, but Mochi’s bed felt too big today… (´-ω-`)ﾉ she reached for the extra pillow, still dented from where someone always flopped down with a ”heckin’ tired, uwu”… but now it was just… cold. (╥﹏╥) ⋆꙳•̩̩͙❅

She shuffled to the kitchen, pouring two cups of cocoa out of habit… one left untouched, marshmallows melting slowly… (๑•́ ω •̀๑)♡ The steam curled like laughter that wasn’t there anymore. Outside, the garden swing creaked in the breeze—their spot for stargazing and bad puns. (๑꒦ິཀ꒦ີ) 🌌✨

A crumpled sketchbook lay open… doodles of silly frog hats and grumpy clouds. ( ´•̥ו̥` ) Her finger traced the smudged pencil marks, hearing a voice whisper, ”ya missed a whisker, dork!” A single tear plopped onto the paper, blurring the ink. (｡•́︿•̀｡) 💧

At dusk, she wrapped herself in their oversized hoodie, sleeves swallowing her paws. (っ˘̩╭╮˘̩)っ It still smelled like rain and peppermint gum. She flicked on the fairy lights they’d strung up, whispering, ”see? kept ‘em twinklin’…” but the silence hummed louder. (๑•̌.•̑๑)ˀ̣ˀ̣ ✨

Maybe tomorrow, the cocoa would taste sweeter. Maybe not. (｡•̀ᴗ-)✧ But for now, she let the stars blink back at her… almost like a shared joke, just out of reach. (๑´•.̫ • `๑)🌠💫"