I still haven’t left the house. I just can’t bring myself to go outside. I just can’t make myself care.
I lie here in bed, blasting music so loud it fills the room.
Fills my ears.
Fills my mind.
The sun rises each morning, casting its light through the curtains of my room and I can’t help but wonder - What does it matter?
The Earth does not need me. It has never needed me nor any humans. We as a species always felt so important. So superior. But the truth is, the universe never needed us. It doesn’t need me.
Our rocky planet spins without lamenting the billions of missing souls that, until so recently, scurried across its surface. It rotates around a ball of liquid fire burning at the center of our solar system that does not even notice that my eyes are now the only sentient being that sees its rays of light. And our solar system revolves around the super-massive black hole sitting in the center of the Milky Way Galaxy that, for all intents and purposes, has never even known that the human race existed.
For billions of years before we walked this planet, this universe thrived. And for billions of years after we are all gone, it will continue.
The fact that there is a tiny sphere of rock and iron floating in space with one pathetic life still drawing breath is probably the least important thing.
Yet it is the only thing.
It is me.