No point

At first there was nothing.
Then a point appeared. It had no size, no volume, no magnitude; just a point in space, nothing special, nothing great, almost nothing at all, to be honest.
But it had one thing. The ambition, the drive, to be something more than it currently was, to let the universe know of its presence.
It looked at the stars -wait, no, not looked- It sensed the stars shining, basking in the light from those tiny pinpricks many lightyears distant and wondered; as much as any point could wander: Little points in space, just like (me) how is it that they shine so brightly; to pierce this void?
And the stars twinkled as if in reply: We shine; for ourselves, we shine so bright, consuming ourselves, we light the sky.
Then it knew, the point did. And it grew, gaining volume, gathering particles, a coming-together of points; and ignited; an iridescent ball it now was.
It exulted in its glory; throwing its rays to the furthest reaches of space, freely, and without a thought.
And then it was spent; burnt out, and it collapsed, into nothing.

A point in space; lonely, wondering, at the light of star, lightyears away; long burnt out.