Sometimes there are so many questions, that there remains no point in asking...

Arbit

How much is enough? How much is the past? And what, of the future? The many people we meet, zigzag roads across paths of time, intertwined, weaving a web of complexities. Sometimes they burn through, sometimes they simply collide and deflect. They leave a scar, a dent, sometimes. Sometimes they just kiss each other by. Like fingertips touching, while we drive through, while the wind courses through hair.