Moonlight, it's my starlight...

It almost doesn't seem like we're living a life, but more like we're travelling on a train with the destination unknown. One moment you're sitting on a seat near the window looking outside, imagining how things are there, how it must feel to live in the houses that you pass by. And when you're busy noticing, the world around you dissipates, as if it never truly existed. You miss out on some passengers who exited the train somewhere midway, then others you examine with beastly vigor. They peak your interest and imagination. You create a story about their lives, and how it could be interwoven with yours. But sooner or later their stop comes, and then you never see them again. And once we die, all those scenarios die with us. Does anything then ever truly endure?