Our bodies, full of life, carry so much of history underneath the flesh,
with recycled stardust and water flowing through our bloodstreams,
we serve as a reminder to one another that the Earth has been spinning on its axis for an eternity before we came along.

It’s frightening.

There is so much around us all of the time and I can’t keep up.
So many reasons to keep living, so many things to take in and learn about,
and yet, a selfish part of me can’t help but dwell on the insignificance of my own life.

There are so many more poems that have yet to be written,
pieces of music that have yet to be performed,
sculptures and paintings that have yet to be crafted,
and so much of the planet remains uncharted, undiscovered.

I am so tired of waiting around for a sense of purpose to strike me.
There is mortality that is to be found in even the most meaningless crevices of the universe,
and it will never be fair of me to expect it to come and find me.