"These people aren't from around here. They moved here from far away. Not even this planet. They float around, bumping into things, playing the part they're supposed to play. Surprised, sad, happy, laugh. They perform these things but they aren't these things. They're empty vessels. Husks occupied by some alien force trying desperately to become human. To feel what the real humans feel, to taste what the real humans taste, to experience what real humans experience. But they can't. Because they're not human. They just want to be real. The lives were always better on the other side of the galaxy, so they came here to become real people, and to live what they thought they should live, instead of realizing that they had all the life they needed where they were. They suffered from the same defect as humans. Envy. Envy so blinding that they couldn't see beyond their flat little non-noses to the truth of reality. The truth that they are who or what they are, and nothing can ever change that. The ironic thing about it is that they would live what they believed were happy lives where they only somewhere else when they formed their opinions. Instead they chase what they can never have, and tell themselves how great their lives are now that they aren't who they were. They see things on television and in magazines and they become those things. Like a child putting on its parents' clothes so it can pretend to be grown up. Or an adult, doing childish things so it can pretend it's not. There's never any satisfaction in these lives. No appreciation. No love. No laughter. No soul. These people have to be something. They can't just be. This would all be understandable -- even excusable -- if these self-propelled sacks of chemicals really were aliens from another planet. But they're not. They're actually magical beings of endless complexities and uniqueness, blessed with life by a random amalgamation of atoms formed in the very stars they hide behind their roofs and their eyelids and their bright lights. Stars so beyond their experience, so unfathomably far, so incomprehensibly large, so impossibly hot that they must avert their gaze from their creators, their gods. They're afraid. They're afraid to acknowledge the miracle of their lives because they're shaken to their core by the thought that they'll have to stop doing all the things they've been pretending were important after they realize how important they themselves are. What they don't understand is that there is only one thing that changes when you realize the greatest truth of your life. Your perspective.
I'm going to change that."