Have you ever wondered why we’re here?

Not in some big, philosophical way. More like… why you’re here. Why I’m here. What we’re supposed to be doing with all of this—life, I mean.

I don’t have all the answers. But I’ve lived enough lives to know one thing: you start thinking about it more when you’re at the end of it all. Funny how that works, huh?

So here I am again, floating in this… space. It’s dark. Quiet. I think I’ve been here before, but I can’t say for sure. Feels familiar, though. The way everything feels… empty. No warmth, no cold. Just nothing.

This is what death is, I guess.

Then I see them—the lights. Tiny little blue dots scattered all around me, like stars. They’re distant at first, but I know what they are. They always show up like this. They’re memories—my memories. Moments from lives I don’t remember until now.

It’s like… they’re waiting for me to notice them.

I reach for one, just to see. It flickers under my fingers, and suddenly, I’m there again.

I’m back in a kitchen. Small place, kind of cozy. The smell of bread fills the air—fresh, warm, just out of the oven. And that light… the sunlight’s pouring through the window, making everything glow. It’s so ordinary… but somehow, it feels special now.

There’s someone sitting at the table. She’s smiling at me, her eyes crinkling at the corners like they always did when she was happy. I remember her. She was important in that life. We didn’t have much, but we didn’t need much either. We had moments like this.

Funny how I never thought twice about it then. Just another day, right? But now, standing here again… I get it. It was one of those small moments that sticks with you, even if you don’t realize it at the time.

I let go of the memory, and the kitchen fades away. It’s just me again, floating in that empty space. Only… it’s not as empty now. Something’s changed. There’s… something there. I squint, trying to make it out.

Trees. Just the faint outline of them, but they’re there. A park, maybe? Huh. It’s like the memory left something behind.

I look at the other lights. There’s more of them now. They’re waiting for me.

I reach for another one, and suddenly I’m in a completely different place. There’s rain—steady, gentle, falling against the cobblestones. I’m sitting under an awning, just watching it. The air feels… heavy, but in a good way.

It’s peaceful. I’m alone, but I don’t feel lonely. There’s something about the way the rain sounds that makes everything feel quieter, slower. Like the world’s taking a break, just for me.

In that life, I guess I learned to appreciate stuff like this. The quiet, where nothing big happens. I didn’t realize it then, but now… yeah, those were the times that counted.

The rain fades, and I’m back in the void, but it’s changing. The park’s getting clearer. I can see more now—paths, trees, even a bench off in the distance. It’s like… the more I remember, the more this place fills in.

I reach for another glimmer, and suddenly I’m in a different life, standing in the doorway of a small home. There’s laughter—bright and clear—coming from the next room. I see a little girl running toward me, her eyes wide with joy, her hands reaching up for me.

My daughter.

In that life, she was my world. I spent so much time worrying about how to take care of her, how to give her the best life I could. But in the end, it wasn’t about what I could give her—it was about the memories we made. The laughter. All the times we played. Everything that made her smile.

She throws herself into my arms, giggling as I lift her up, and for that moment, I remember what it felt like to be everything to someone.

I let go of the memory, and as I do, the park shifts again. The structures are clearer now—benches, small houses, pathways winding through the trees. It’s still muted, but the colors are growing brighter.

I walk further, taking in the park as it grows around me. The trees feel familiar, the sunlight breaking through the leaves casting dappled shadows on the ground. I touch another glimmer.

This time, I’m sitting across from an old friend, a cup of coffee between us. We’re talking about nothing in particular—just life, work, the way things always seem to change. His voice is comforting, steady, the kind of voice that makes you feel like everything’s going to be alright.

We’d meet like this every week, catching up on the little things. At the time, I never thought much of it. It was just routine. But now, looking back, I realize how much it meant to me. Just having someone there, someone who knew me, who cared.

The little wonders. That’s what they were.

The memory fades, and I find myself back in the park, now fully alive with color and light. The trees, the flowers, the paths—all of it is vibrant, filled with life. The structures have taken full form now, each one tied to a memory, a piece of the life I once lived.

I stop walking for a second. Just taking it all in. The park isn’t empty anymore.

And then, I hear it.

It’s faint at first, like a whisper on the wind. I almost miss it, but as I stand still, I realize it’s been there all along, just beneath everything else. It’s… beautiful. Soft. Like a melody that’s been playing in the background of every life I’ve ever lived.

I close my eyes, listening closer. The sound… it feels familiar, like I’ve known it forever. It’s not any song I’ve heard before, but I know it. Deep down, I know what it is.

It’s the song of life.

I let the noise fill me, and in that moment, everything clicks. All the memories, all the lives I’ve lived… they’ve all been playing to this melody, even when I didn’t notice. It’s always been there, steady and constant. Just like the little things that make life worth living.

I stop at the edge of the park, turning to look back one last time. The memories, the trees, the paths—they’re all still there. Still full of life.

And then I see you. You’re not here in the park with me, but somehow… you’re still here.

Maybe you’ve been looking for answers, too. Maybe you’ve been chasing something far away, thinking that happiness is out there, somewhere, waiting for you to find it. But it’s not. It’s right here. Always has been.

So if there’s one thing I’ve learned through all of this, it’s this: don’t wait for the big moments. Live for the small ones. The ones that happen every day. Because in the end, they’re what make life beautiful.

I take a deep breath, feeling the warmth of the sun on my face. The faint sound is still there, humming quietly in the distance, reminding me that it’s always been there.

I think I’ll sit here for a while, just… being.

And really, that’s enough for me.