Sometimes I imagine that people will not know me at all after twenty, fifty, or one hundred years; when a piece of my works will be waiting for readers in vain, fully covered in dust at the corner of a shelf in a used-book store; nay, perhaps when the only existing copy may be too worn and damaged to be readable at a closed stack of a library. But...
I think "but."
But I wonder if someone has a chance to find one of my books and read a short story or at least some lines. Moreover, I have the smallest hope that the story or several lines may show my unknown future reader a touch of a beautiful vision.