I remember the biologist. They have always been successful. I shifted uneasily. I imagined the biologist's microscope bulging with this micro-life, making him feel like a little Dutch boy with no hope of holding back the teeming millions. He is right of course, but I didn't tell him that.
Life is a hard thing to reason.
Being mortal we are perhaps too attached to one life. We constantly expend our nutrients as cells die and require nutrients for new cells to form. We thus recycle ourselves, literally becoming what we eat. I speak about myself as a singular life, but even this is not so. In me are a million other lives, living their own micro-lives.