This line reminds us how deeply human the need to make sense of what we live through really is. Putting things down on paper is not just about writing; it is an attempt to gather the scattered pieces of the mind. While thoughts spin endlessly in our heads, they can feel chaotic, even cruel. But once they are turned into words, they gain boundaries. What you can articulate is no longer just a burden that hurts you; it becomes an experience you can reflect on, one you can place at a distance. Meaning is rarely created in the moment of living; it is often built by looking back.
“Maybe it’s too late, but I’m trying” shows that hope and exhaustion can coexist. The search for meaning has no deadline; it begins when a person is ready. Even at the moment you think you are late, writing can still open a door. Because the point is not to reclaim time, but to reposition what happened within your inner world. Paper may not change the past, but it can return your sense of control over it. And sometimes, that is the quietest yet most powerful kindness a person can offer themselves.