(??? 's PoV)
What is a soul without a home, a purpose, or a name? I drift, aimless, in a universe so vast it mocks my every thought. There is nothing here but silence, and yet, even in the silence, my mind won't stop. I keep asking questions—questions no one will answer.
I think about what it means to exist. When I had a body, a life, I never questioned it. I woke up, I worked, I laughed, I cried. And then one day, I didn't. Now I'm here, floating in this endless sea of stars. But am I truly alive? Or is this just some echo of my former self, trying to hold on to what's already gone?
They say humans fear the unknown, but what if the unknown is all there is? I thought I knew what mattered—love, success, happiness. But out here, none of it seems real. All the things I cared about, the things I fought for—they feel so small now. Was it all just a distraction, a way to avoid facing the truth? That we're all just specks of dust in a universe that doesn't care whether we shine or fade?
And yet, even knowing this, I can't stop wanting. Wanting to feel, to connect, to matter. Is that what it means to be human? To crave meaning, even when none exists? Maybe that's the cruelest joke of all—to long for something the universe never promised us.
But then I wonder... maybe the meaning isn't out there. Maybe it's in the longing itself. In the act of searching, even when the search feels hopeless. Perhaps that's the most human thing of all—to keep looking, to keep hoping, even in the face of infinite nothingness.
I don't know where I'm going, or if I'll ever get there. Maybe there is no "there." But as long as I can think, as long as I can feel—even if it's just the ache of loneliness—I know I'm still something. I'm still human. And maybe, just maybe, that's enough.