Cosmos

Although size should probably not be the most defining factor of someone/something’s worth, the immensity of the universe and of the biggest objects inside it, as a scale, characterizes us as very frail, very small, very passing, very vulnerable, very unmeaningful, a tiny little spark in time and space that would escape any more significant conscience’s notice. Only the telling of our history can make us matter in any way in the midst of such vastness but it seems likely there will be no one/nothing to tell ours, to hear from ours, to read ours, once humanity is done.
So in that perspective, what of matters remain?
Apparently Baudelaire used to despise people’s fantasy of some sort of “absolute”, he thought this yearning was the source of much evil. So maybe our measuring rod for what matters should not be the skies.
Maybe we should not try to matter at all to the universe, to the Milky Way or even the Sun.
Maybe we should embrace our tiny specks of stardust-sized significance, and the beauty of its fleeting ways.