There are people who leave traces, people who never really vanish.
They may not be etched in your memory forever but as long as all of you are under the same sky, feeling the warmth of the rays coming from the same sun, looking at the same moon, living in the same planet - you hold pieces of those people.
It might be the way they smiled at you, when no one else bothered to acknowledge your presence, might be the way they pulled open the door when you were carrying a handful of things, or it might even be the way they looked at you, during that time you felt most alone and they seemed to understand. Not know, but understand (and sometimes, understanding is more beautiful than just knowing).
I have no idea how many pieces I've collected over the course of my existence and if they all fit together delicately and form an intricate puzzle. But what I do know is that the pieces I hold and I are an open-ended book.
And because we're open-ended...doesn't that mean we're infinite?
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