It's instantaneous. Short lived. Seemingly forgettable; but it stayed with me. That wonderment, that curiosity, and that weird sense of being so tiny in this vast world.
That breakfast stall owner, furiously beating eggs to prepare an omelette for his customers, that young woman taking a morning walk, the mother holding her child's hand and walking her to school. They all have something in common; in my opinion anyways.
They all have their own story, their own life, completely different from mine. To them, their world is their life, but for me, they are just a passerby.
They have experienced life just like my parents have, have their own means of happiness, their own sources of sadness, their own family, friends, loved ones. I am nothing more than just a stranger in their eyes.
To me, they are nothing more than an unfamiliar passerby.
Have you ever pondered? How we live in this small world, where, to us, our world is what we make it, but with all the people existing on here, just imagine about all those little worlds existing here.
Makes you wonder right?
How significantly important everyone is, but how limited your own perception of important is?
YOU ARE READING
Histoires Courtes
General Fiction"Musings and stories of an ordinary girl, who's just trying to sum up her infinite stream of thoughts into small little miracles."
