I’m playing with the little globe at my writing desk. I let it spin and spin and spin and... I pause. I suddenly feel too small. How many places have not been discovered yet? How many lands? I keep telling myself how pointless and worthless my existence must be in a universe like this. In the silence, the beating of my heart can almost exceed the noise of my thoughts. Each pulse is stronger than ever. We are told that the heart is the same size as the fist. My hands are not that big and so neither is my heart. I keep forgetting its value, though. Isn’t the heart also an undiscovered land? Sure, the doctors could tell me all its functions one by one. They could illustrate me its structure to a tee. But they don’t know the reasons why a heart keeps beating even when it’s tired. Or why it doesn’t break when it cracks. Tell me about the way it loves me even when I don’t, even when I’ve hurt it. I want to know why it doesn’t explode when it is so full of passion. Isn’t it grand? Isn’t this enough? I am the universe.