In summer,

The grass was wet, but she lay on it anyways. The sky was so transparently navy, and a smattering of stars could be seen. She looked up at them, tiny pinpricks of light, and tried to imagine how immense they truly were, and far. And how large the Earth was, and how many people were on it. And they were all real people, with hobbies and families and realities.

Only none of them are real people at all.

Her head began to spin. A good feeling, kind of.

Getting up, swaying slightly as her vision blacked out a little, she walked to the nearest streetlight and stood under it, bathed in warm orange glow. Taking a half-smoked cigarette from behind an ear, she lit it and inhaled deeply, choking a little on the smoke. But it tasted nice.

She dropped it and watched the tiny ember fade out.

Above her, one lonely moth fluttered to the streetlight and fell away.