Oliver Jeffers

But he does not understand.

slips beneath the waves and sinks to the bottom.

The sea was sad for him, but carried on being the sea, as do all the other objects of his ownership, but the fate of Fausto does not matter to them.

For all the importance in the cosmos we believe we hold, we'd have nothing if not for this earth, while it would keep happily spinning obliviously without us.

On this planet, there are people,

We've gone about our days.

Sometimes we look up and out.

Mostly we look down and in.

Looking up and by drawing lines between the lights in the sky, we've attempted to make sense out of chaos.

Looking down, we've drawn lines across the land to know where we belong and where we don't.

We do mostly forget that these lines that connect the stars and those lines that divide the land live only in our heads.

They too are stories.

We carry out our everyday routines and rituals according to the stories we most believe in, and these days, the story is changing as we write it.

There is a lot of fear in this current story, and until recently, the stories that seem to have the most part are those of bitterness of how it had all gone wrong for us individually and collectively.

It has been inspiring to watch how the best comes from the worst, how people are waking up in this time of global reckoning to the realization that our connections with each other

are some of the most important things we have.

But stepping back, for all we've had to lament, we spend very little time relishing on the single biggest thing that has ever gone right for us.

That we are here in the first place.

That we are alive at all.

That we are still alive.