As I walked down the street today, it struck me—suddenly and with quiet force—that each passing glance exchanged with a stranger is no trifling occurrence. There is, I believe, a spiritual weight to such moments, however brief, as if the invisible cords that bind all souls are tugged ever so gently when our eyes meet. In that instant—so brief the clock scarcely marks it—a silent transaction occurs: a mysterious mingling of two lives, each carrying within it a world of joys, sorrows, longings, and fears.
We pass one another like stars in the night—distant, burning, sovereign in our own orbits—and yet, for a flicker of time, our light touches. And though we part without a word, something unspoken has transpired. It is not merely the brush of vision, but the subtle acknowledgment of shared humanity—souls brushing at the edge of eternity. There is, I think, a sacred cost in such moments. For in that glancing contact, each soul, however unknowingly, surrenders something of itself—fragile, irreplaceable, and perhaps eternal.
