One of the strangest things about life is that it will chug on, blind and oblivious, even as your private world - your little carved-out sphere - is twisting and morphing, even breaking apart. One day you have parents; the next day you're an orphan. One day you have a place and a path; the next day you're lost in a wilderness. And still the sun rises and clouds mass and drift and people shop for groceries and toilets flush and blinds go up and down. That's when you realise that most of it - life, the relentless mechanism of existing - isn't about you. It will thrust onward even after you've jumped the edge. Even after you're dead.
The above are the opening lines of a chapter in the book I'm currently reading - it struck me as poetic, and so very true.
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