I lay in the middle of the street, my eyes wide open and staring at the wide expanse of stars set against the navy blue. The sound of a party, with music blasting through-out my block, makes the air around me vibrate from a few houses away. I can feel the concrete pulsing beneath layer of clothing separating my bare self and the ground. Every once in awhile, a silhouetted insect will float through my vision. The trees are inky black against the canvas before me. The street lights are absolute. The moon is vaguely surrounded by filmy white clouds and it stands as a bright orb in the middle of nothingness - a light in the darkness, something to strive towards.
I barely take up a fraction of the street. I barely take up a fraction of anything, for that matter. I am so utterly small and insignificant. We all are. Our actions, in ten years, will not matter for better or for worse. There will be others with our thought processes and others still with our woes. Our ideas are not unique or original, ever. They were all someone else's, somewhere else, first. It's beautiful. I want to scream, to sing, to laugh, to cry, to tell the world how small and tiny everything we do is. I want them to understand how lovely that is. I want to whisper the words to the wind and have them repeated in Times New Roman on the petals of some flower somewhere or spelled in the constellations. It's okay, it's okay - don't worry, none of this matters. Enjoy yourself.
The art of being terribly alive and therefore terribly small is beautiful. The freedom that comes with that knowledge is even better.
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