Your world does not revolve around you

What are we but breathing creatures consist of stardust. In a colossal cosmos of gigantic constellations, we are never more significant than a handful of clays scattered in between a skyscraper-sized breccia outcrop. In the gap between nothingness and existence, that is where we are, wishing if only we were less inconsequential than we are, while every living cell of us—every smallest bit of it—is just particle of no great concerns compared to our surrounding—and expanding?—universe. Things we cannot control keep taking places; subduction exists, orogeny happens, Earth’s plates shift, all occurrences happen, and we stay small.

Hello, there.

In a world where we have always been convinced to realise how insignificant we are, how would you think we still need anybody else to remind us that we are?


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