If not the ones who come after.
So we build for people we will never meet.
You are small. Part of it, and the whole of it.
A whole life flashing past at once: childhood afternoons that went on forever, wind moving through a field of trees, the rush before the drop, laughing until you could not breathe, someone you did not want to leave. You were loved. It mattered that you were there. Nobody tells you it is the last time. And you got to be here for it.
One day, none of this.
And still, worth doing.