of all nameless faces that pass you on the street, in atlanta or tokyo or providence or montevideo; every one of them means something to somebody, more than they have ever meant or will ever mean to you.
likewise, somebody passes and your eyes widen, your face softens. and everyone, forgettable bodies already, becomes less than that. blurs. but you are not a blur, and neither are they.
this is what the world is about. this is what it means to be human and whole and alive.
that we are all the same; we yearn for happiness and peace and love -- note i did not say truth. that we are all the same, but we are immutably and intimately different to each other.