I could argue with great vehemence that in the grand scheme of things, one life does not matter. You don’t matter. I don’t matter. So really, is there any purpose for which we breathe and cry and hurt and smile on this tiny insignificant planet, buried among the millions of stars, moons, galaxies?

Is there a, God forbid, reason to which we listen to the creaking of our rusty hearts and tolerate the salty wounds we bring upon ourselves (on which, by the way, we refuse to place a band-aid)?
I’ve seen too many people drown in the pressures of the world. They disappear into a shell of insecurity, closing their hearts and minds to the people who care. Then they say, If I died today, there would be nothing but a blip in the course of nature.

But then again, we don’t live in the grand scheme of things, do we? We live while being loved by others, we live while being a part of a person’s world, comprised of maybe a select few, or maybe just comprised of you. You matter to somebody, somebody whose world cannot possibly have the capacity to fit the souls and stories of 6.8 billion human beings.

So I suppose I have no choice but to conclude: We matter. You matter. You and I, we’re each of a singularity (is that not a breathtaking word?), but we will never, ever be alone, because out there in that jungle, somebody is waiting to meet you. Somebody is waiting to care.