Over the span of human history, approximately 100 billion of us have been born. Yet, when compared to the seemingly infinite possibilities of life—roughly 10^30 potential people, if not more—the number of those who could have existed far outweighs those who ever will. In a strange twist of fate, you and I are the fortunate ones. We are granted the gift of death—because only by first having lived do we earn the honour of returning to the stars.

Most who could have lived alongside us, before us, or long after us, will never step foot on this planet. They'll never be born to see the Moon or the stars, never stand in awe before the vastness of our universe. They'll never smell flowers after a spring rain, or revel in the warmth of a sunrise or the stillness of a sunset. For them, there will be no sky to gaze upon, no life to celebrate. And yet here we are, privileged to experience both the beauty and the burdens of existence—to soak in the fragility of life itself.

To live is to be loved more than you will ever realise; more than you could ever fathom. A stranger passing by is warmed by your smile, or perhaps the scent of your presence lingers with them for a while. Someone, long estranged, would give anything to be near you again, just to share space and time with you for a few moments.

To live is to leave a trace, however faint, in the lives of others. You are here, and that alone is more extraordinary than you may ever realise.

published: 20/10/24 by kaan evcimen