I've shouted questions at the sky- Hard ones, nearly unanswerable- hoping against hope that somewhere, Something might answer. I've screamed until my throat grew hoarse from the effort, and stared up, waiting- wishing- begging for some kind of answer. A sign. Anything. But there was only silence, ringing deafeningly over the black expanse. The stars went on shining as they had before. It was then I realized. The Cosmos doesn't care about me. The Cosmos has cares of its own- Forging stars and galaxies from dust; Compressing the very essence of time into unimaginable singularities; presiding over the evolutionary cycles of innumerable lifeforms. Why would it care about one, comparatively insignificant life, on a world teeming with it, in the outward spiral of a galaxy very likely filled with other life. It was then I realized. Maybe I should look out for myself- find the answers I seek on my own, give up/leave behind my fear of the unknown, instead of expecting the answers to be handed to me. It shouldn't be that easy.