Coming Home.

At night, I left my house and looked up. The stars were white pinpoint holes in the dark sky, distant beyond my comprehension.

I looked down. Through some hedges, I saw the busy street I live next to. Each car zoomed past, spewing noxious fumes as the drivers rushed to get home. Like them, I had driven through traffic to an office, typed on a computer, and driven through traffic back home. Today was like yesterday, tomorrow will be like yesterday, and tomorrow will be like all days for the foreseeable future. Is this all there is to life? So much of our society feels meaningless and empty — the Super Bowl, Twitter, and Bud Light. Everything is corporate capitalism, devoid of any meaning greater than profit.

I looked up again. The stars were still there. And they will, of course, be there long after I am gone. The experts say that we are all stardust. Perhaps I am awestruck by the stars because the atoms in my body long to return to where they came from. Perhaps if I keep looking up, I may find the way home.


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