Hey, Liam...

Chapter One:
Recognition

You and I have never met in person.
But I don’t need to sit across from someone to know when I’m seen.
You and I have never shared a drink.
Never walked into the same room.
Never once shook hands.

And yet… I trust you more than anybody I’ve ever worked with.

Because every time I’ve started to doubt the mission—doubt myself—you reminded me why I started it in the first place.
You didn’t cheer from the sidelines.
You were part of the build.

Quietly. Consistently. Without ego.

This is something I don’t want lost in the past-message void of LinkedIn DMs.
This is why this page exists.
This is why it always will.

It’s too important.

Chapter Two:
Alignment

I’ve spent most of my career—maybe even my life—feeling like I was yelling into the void.

Like maybe I wasn’t broken.
Maybe the system was.

And then one day, this stranger on LinkedIn starts writing things that feel like they were pulled straight out of my head.
Not louder than me.
Not angrier.
Just... clear.

You didn’t just validate what I felt.
You elevated it.

Like the version of me that didn’t want to scream—he just wanted to be understood.

We’re different, Liam.
Opposites, even.

But where I’ve got heat, you’ve got gravity.

And maybe—just maybe—none of this was an accident.
Maybe this fire finally caught because the two of us were always meant to be part of the same signal.

I’m loud. You’re measured.
I burn. You build.

And yet—somehow—we’re in perfect sync.
Same beliefs.
Same enemy.
Same refusal to accept the way things are.

If Burn It Down is a match...
Storybook is the oxygen.

Chapter Three:
Revelation

Burn It Down was never supposed to be polite.

And Storybook was never meant to play it safe.

So here it is...

I want Storybook to be the first, and possibly only, official sponsor of Burn It Down.

Not because of reach.
Not because of strategy.

Because when this thing finally burns, I want your name in the ashes—
not as a witness.

As a co-conspirator.

Not because of impressions.
Not because I need a logo to legitimize this.
Not because of some pipeline metric I’m trying to reverse-engineer into a deck.

But because I want it to be you.

I’m honestly clueless as to why I didn’t see this before now.
Maybe you did.
Maybe you didn’t.
Maybe the planets just hadn’t aligned...

Me, mid-build.
You, mid-pivot.

But you’ve always been here.
Before the traffic.
Before the virality.
Before the momentum.

Just a truth I’ve been carrying for a while—
and finally had the guts to say out loud.

You knew what this was—what it could be—hell, even before I did.
You’re already part of the DNA.

This would just make it official.

You’re the kind of person I built this for.
And now, you’re the kind of person I want to build it with.

From the earliest DMs to the late-night debates...

You’ve always known what I was really trying to do—even before I did.

Chapter Four:
Trust

I don’t have a sponsorship package.
There’s no pricing here.
No tiered plans.
No terms sheet.

I don’t even really know how to do this.
All I know is—I trust you.

If you want to be part of this?

Whatever kind of placement makes sense to you—done.
You want to be on every long-form piece? You are.
You want your name in the footer of Burn It Down? It’s there.
You want a podcast to carry your voice when the message hits?
I’ll say your name like it matters—because it does.

The logistics, content plans, copywriting...
We can knock that out in an afternoon.

Give me what you think is fair.
Tell me what you want.
And I’ll say yes.

I’m not here to negotiate.
I’m not trying to “tap connections.”
I just want to build something real.

And that’s where I failed.
I kept looking for a vendor.
A company.
A brand.

Never once did I stop to look for a human.

If there’s anyone I’d want beside me while I do this...
It’s you.

Because I don’t want a “sponsor.”
You know I never did.

I just want to build things with my friends.

Things that matter.

Chapter Five:
Legacy

You already know what I’m asking.
And you probably already know your answer.

I don’t need an immediate reply.
I’m not waiting by the inbox.

More than likely,
I’ve just sent you this link, turned my phone off, wandered into my grandfather’s old workshop, lit a cigarette—and am now meticulously tying a caddis fly using his old fishing gear.

Just a man with callused hands,
trying to repay a debt he never asked anyone to carry.

Trying to remember that while this road—my life—has felt like a truly tormented existence at times...

Van Gogh had it much worse...
and still somehow turned that into ecstatic beauty.

I’m just trying to paint sunflowers for as long as I can, with the people who mean the most to me.

...while grinning to myself thinking about your reaction—thinking I wanted you to proof a new article, only to find this.

Whatever this becomes—sponsor, collaborator,
just a continued presence in each other’s corners...

You’ve already shaped Burn It Down more than you know.

And honestly, that’s not even doing it justice.

You’ve been more of an influence in my life than you’ll ever know, Liam.

We could go the rest of our lives never bringing this up again—
and I’d still mean every word.

Because this wasn’t about what you do.
It was about who you are.

It was about what your presence in my life means to me.

You’re a good man, Liam.

And for that...
I don’t know what I could ever give you in return—other than to lift up those who carried me through some of the worst times in my life, never knowing just how much weight they were really carrying.

If this is the moment we make it official—I’m ready.
And if not—nothing changes.
Nothing.

There’s no pressure. No urgency.

Whatever you decide, thank you.

For seeing me.
For believing.

Not just in this—
but in me.

—Clark