There you are

I see you in the street corner, waiting patiently for a cab. I sit beside you at the doctor's clinic, picking up the magazine I've just tossed aside. I breathe in your fading perfume, mingling with sweat, while in line at the supermarket. I hear your voice giving life to a song, and it moves me. I feel the confidence in your handshake, and wonder if you sense the need in mine.

There you are, wherever I go-- a friend, a neighbor, a brother, a stranger. I may have married you. Or I might never meet you.

But we wake up to the same sun, look in hope towards the same sky, and sleep under the blanket of the same stars.

We talk in different languages, write with different alphabets, our accents betraying our roots-- but it's the same love and sorrow, the same joy and pain, of which we speak.

It's the same earth on which we walk, from where all life is born and where we all turn to dust.

No matter where we are, it's the same hands with which we comfort through touch, the same lips with which we offer friendship through a smile. The same feet with which we bridge the physical distance between us.

Only one god keeps watch over us, regardless of the name by which we call him.

We are diverse and distant. We are the same.

There is but one of us, with 6,602,224,175 versions of our self. There you are, wherever you go.