The Humans

was the eyes, on Earth, that mattered. You saw the person, and the life inside them, if you saw the eyes.

In every life there is a moment. A crisis. One that says: what I believe is wrong. It happens to everyone, the only difference is how that knowledge changes them.

Two mirrors, opposite and facing each other at perfectly parallel angles, viewing themselves through the other, the view as deep as infinity.

They exist simultaneously in two worlds – the world of appearances and the world of truth. The connecting strands between these worlds take many forms.

Because, yes, sure, God could not exist. But then neither could humans. So, if they believed in themselves – the logic must go – why not believe in something that was only a fraction more unlikely?

How happy is the little stone That rambles in the road alone, And doesn’t care about careers, And exigencies never fears; Whose coat of elemental brown A passing universe put on; And independent as the sun, Associates or glows alone, Fulfilling absolute decree In casual simplicity.

‘Clair de Lune’ by Debussy.

Life, especially human life, was an act of defiance. It was never meant to be, and yet it existed in an incredible number of places across a near-infinite amount of solar systems.

There are no new ingredients in the universe, and humans – however they may look – are made of roughly the same things we are.