In this brief existence, we are but fleeting echoes—foreigners in a cosmic transience. Our souls, like delicate particles of stardust, traverse the boundless void.

Imagine: a speck of dust suspended in the sunbeam of eternity. We drift, unanchored, through epochs and eras, our essence woven into the fabric of time. Each heartbeat resonates with the pulse of forgotten constellations.

This world, once vibrant and resplendent, now wanes—a fading ember in the cosmic hearth. The symphony of life falters, notes dissolving into silence. We, too, are part of this unraveling—a minuscule fragment in the grand unraveling.

Yet, within our insignificance lies wonder. We dance upon the fragile crust of Earth, pirouetting through seasons, tides, and revolutions. The planet spins, and we pirouette with it—our existence a delicate balance between gravity and dreams.

Look up! The stars—those ancient storytellers—whisper secrets across eons. They, too, were once dust, remnants of celestial cataclysms. And here we stand, gazing upward, yearning for connection.

Perhaps purpose lies not in grand gestures but in the quietude of being. To witness dawn’s blush, to feel raindrops kiss our skin, to share laughter with fellow wanderers—these are our celestial privileges.

So let us embrace our foreignness, our impermanence. Let us revel in the cosmic dance, for even as the world loses itself, we remain—tiny, resilient, and beautifully insignificant.

© Beatriz Esmer