You are a single star in a universe of billions. A tiny pin prick of light in a sea of illumination. One story, a single thread among countless others, woven into the tapestry of our race.
There are other stories all around you. Your family, your friends. The people they know, your town, nearby cities. The cities in your state, states in your country, countries on continents. So many people. So many stories going on right now, this very moment.
Then there is the past. The seemingly endless history of stories. From the decades and centuries of recent times to the ancient civilizations and further back still to the races that pre-date our current evolutionary forms. So so many people. So so many stories.
Individually we are but a sliver of what seems an infinite past and future of people. How can we possibly imagine that those people never die, that their stories go on forever. Is there even a speck of probability that this would be the way the universe works? Matter and energy created, yet never destroyed? The person I am today, I will always be? Living on forever, in some independent existence, with all my memories and identity perpetually preserved? I don’t think so.
I think the likelihood is, that we are all made of stars, and we all shine on, like the moon, and the stars, and the sun. And when they go, so do we.