To The Last Person On Earth (first letter)

Dear, Poorest You,
I could be convinced you’re historical. Over. Done. Yes… Perhaps you’ve come and gone. Maybe you disappeared when we stopped imagining the future. Did we stop imagining the future?
I sometimes think you’re like Vincent Price in a movie I saw once many lifetimes ago. You wake up everyday begrudgingly. You reinforce the barricades of your living quarters (damaged by zombies trying to break in and kill you at night).
This happens over and over again but it’s taking place beyond me and everyone else.  It requires a consciousness we don’t possess because we are the zombies.  I’ve tried to explain this scenario before, only to face charges of existential paranoia etc.
Who knows what a person is? Who is going to believe them? What could verify it and with what authority?
How can I locate you? How can I say goodbye? Can I bring you back? Can you take me with you?