People are sand.
In the grand scheme of now, then and
tomorrow, what’s a grain to desert?
I read that the stars in our observable
universe outnumber every grain of sand on earth.
I appreciate the poetry in it. So
insignificant yet carelessly hopeful are we, that the representation of our
potential to achieve and our capacity to dream outnumber the cumulative
summation of everything we are, we were and ever will be.
Do you think sand remembers being stone?
That it was once a mighty rock or cliff
that the waves relentlessly pounded against for millennia, slowly chipping away
fragments, hoarding its sunken loot on the ocean floor?
It must feel lonely.
To once exist as an entity, forcefully pried
apart from its lifelong counterparts. The implication of its fate irreversible, even after the seas have dried and the tectonic plates have shifted, and
the face of the earth altered. Generations thrive and die, civilisations flourish and fall, species emerging and driven to extinction.
Some things just can't be undone.
Sand lives the rest of eternity buried among its
brethren but without the possibility of ever being whole again.
