Love Letter

The lives of people seem so ordinary, so pointless. We sit here on this giant rock we call earth, for maybe 90 years if we are lucky, when even 100 is too short. We sit here, 6 billion of us, each lost in our own lives, in our own meaninglessness, in our own pointless being. Proving only that there is nothing worth having or doing. Whatever we do, how can one person make a difference in 6 billion? And then there are billions in every generation. Thousands of years we have existed, thousands, thousands each with their billions. We are not the stars, we are the spaces between them, such is our inconsequence. I am not a star, I am the rock that floats aimlessly in space until I burn when looking to touch something, becoming no more than dust. Even less now than I was before, spread out amongst the heavens and the stars that shine so bright that no one sees me. Such is our status in this world, in the history of time, in all that matters. So I sit here, at a café, writing something that will someday disintegrate into the ground, when your hand drops it by a dusty road and I am less than a memory.

Why waste pointless time on a pointless story, when the point is only that there is no point in anything? Because and only because I choose to believe the worthless are worth something in each other. There are things in this universe that would humble the wisest man, shock the most intelligent, and yet all are rendered even more dumbfounded in something so simple – each other. What is a life worth… nothing. Some are lost without any value at all. What is a life worth to you? That is all that matters. What is anything worth to you? The comet is meaningless in this great expanse, but the expanse is not meaningless to the comet, and in this paradox, this distinction, lies the beauty of the stars. They are but burning fires so distant that we would confuse them for gems scattered across the night sky. Fires burning themselves to extinction, until we weave them into necklaces for those we love. Nothing means anything and everything is pointless, except in each other. We live through others, and in our disturbance of their lives. I only exist because those that love me say so. If there was no one that was moved by me, I would be that rock in the sky that shall never be seen, or felt.

Our time in this world is short. We have days and hours to appreciate beauty, to taste it, to feel it, to experience what it feels like to feel. Waiting is the hardest part. Not because I am not patient. I can wait as long as you ask. Waiting is unbearable because time is short, precious, and we waste it in games, in laziness, in being unsure, we all ask for time and all the while, like water through our fingers, time slips by.

We are only alive because we can feel; because we can smell the flowers, because we can feel the water, because we can taste the sweetness of each other, because we can hear music. Nothing exists until we love it. A star is just a distant fire, the moon is just a rock, fountains are just concrete and water. Everything is plain and without reason. They only exist because we see them and are made beautiful when we are moved by them. Never forget that only a heart can bleed.