Imagine if you would, a woman walking the city streets in the middle of the night.
She feels incredibly alone, shivering, for the light of distant windows is neither warm nor welcoming.
So she decides to create ideas in her head, many silly and others profound. The best ones she tells to herself aloud, and takes comfort in how they sound.
Beautiful things, of color and shape so unique that they are treasures to behold. Yet as she brings them to life so to do they decay with time. Walking on, they lose their brilliance and fade to memory, leaving the woman alone till she thinks of ideas anew.
“I’m here!” She finally screames up into the night, unsure what she is wanting as a response.
Maybe all she is searching for is a response, an answer to guide her. Or maybe she is simply listening for the sound of her own voice, an echo to comfort her against the terrifying fact that she is a lost wanderer.
I do not know the thoughts of Earth for certain, but I am surrounded by the brilliance of ideas.
In contemplation I am left saddened by the thought of her voice left unheard in an empty city of starlight.