What keeps me up at night, or, thoughts while exhausted

      I often find myself out in public, looking at the strangers surrounding me, and suddenly realizing that they exist. No, I mean they really exist. Each one of those strangers you see in passing and never see nor think of again, every single face that has ever been perceived by your brain, all of the billions of people on Earth. They all have their own life. They each have their own story. They have a family that they go home to everyday. They face the same problems you do. They face worse problems than you do. They are the most important thing in the world to someone. They have their own, unique story that you will never know or understand. To you, this person is just the background, an extra to your own life. Some people may read this and feel special, or feel superior, but this is a two-way street. You, the complex consciousness that you believe has depth and meaning, are nothing more than an extra in millions of strangers' stories. These people will never take a second to think about you, or what you think, or what you want. Perhaps you'll appear in their dreams one day, but as far as they are concerned, you don't exist. A person might have 1000 people maximum that they can honestly say they know and care about. That leaves 7 billion people who never so much as cross our minds. Perhaps if humans collectively recognized that everyone is the hero of their own story, and that that hero is a beloved supporting role in yet another person's story... well, the world might just be a better place.