I have always had this habit for as long as I can remember; I walk down the street, I look at how many people there are, and the sheer number of them all scares me to my core, and brings me sadness.
Why? Because the voice in my head laments:
Look at all these people; look at all these stories; look at all those dreams and aspirations; look at all that pain. Swept away under the heat of the sun, and the tempest of souls striving for purpose.
I don’t know - it just happens.
But at the very least, I wish to walk up to one person, and ask them how their day was. And after, ask them how there life is.
But no one would understand. They are afraid to share how hard it has all been. And I, in my cowardice, save myself, and walk away, without at least letting them know that they are seen, and that they have a story worth hearing.
After all, isn’t this the epilogue; aren’t we all just reduced to stories in the helix of time?