For Want of Crowds

Looking into the vast emptyness that this universe encompasses, I feel so insignificant as to become meaningless in all but my own imagined importance of place. A billion suns whirl through the infinity that is our existence, outside time and space, endlessly spinning, falling, flying through the dark inky void that stretches beyond all comprehension.
Yet, here I sit, in a chair in a room beneath a roof under the sky that hovers over this planet, always falling, falling, falling while traveling forward around the always-falling Sun, always wondering, "where am I going?"
If you could see behind my eyes, do you think you'd understand my soul? If I could see behind your eyes, would I know you any better than I do right now?
And who is the silent watcher we speak to during our desperate hours alone in the dark, alone without peace, alone with ourselves?
It's sometimes nice to disappear into a crowd, to become just another face among many, just another smile uncertainly reaching across the gap.