On some nights the universe is an idea to me, one I can grasp and understand. But on nights like tonight when the stars go on forever and I’m alone and at my prime, it is an eternity and I am but a moment held within its clutches. It’s beautiful how conceivably worthless I am. I’m a speck among millions. It humbles me—I have no fear of the eternity around me. I look onto it with broken eyes and an optimistic heart. At one point every atom in my being was just star dust from the very infinity I feast upon. I am a product of the beauty before me, and I am not important in the grand scheme of things—the fact that I formed was spontaneous and probably not entirely planned out by the universe. I am humbled that she has deemed me worthy enough to remain.