I looked at the stars and couldn't help but think of you, my dear

So I was walking my dog last night and one of the great things about where I live is that it's so isolated from the rest of the world that you can see the stars. And there are so many. Looking up into the stars, I couldn't help but think about how many other people where looking at the same stars as me, in some distant corner of the world. Maybe somewhere else there was a girl like me looking up at the same stars, but living in complete poverty. Maybe someone was dying, and those stars where the last thing they saw as they drifted into black. Maybe someone some on a romantic date with the one they love. So many possibilities that it made me feel so small and insignificant. There are so many people in this world, and they all have their own story. A story full of ups and downs, monsters and sunny days. What's hard to comprehend is that every one of those 7 billion stories out there are different. Seven billion stories are floating out there in the world, but what's kind of poetic is how they all float around under the same sky, the same stars. 

But what if these stories are already written, that no matter what we think we can't write our own stories? That we're all the puppets of a greater being with a warped sense of humour? That our life is scripted. 

It's kind of scary really. 

Then again what about life isn't scary?