This to me, is Infinity.

Sometimes I think you and I are both trapped in a white empty room with a white-washed wall that touches a borderless ceiling and reaches out into infinity.

As much as we try to escape from this room, we often find ourselves locked in, staring mindlessly at the colourless wall, weeping.

We weep at the infiniteness that lay beyond this wall. The infinite sadness and hopelessness juxtaposing the childish fantasies it once displayed.

Sometimes, I yell at this wall, and my voice reverberates across the infinity. The wall yell backs at me, its voice hollow, echoing my very own innuendo, making a fool out of everyone in the room but me.

But i don't mean to kick and scream at it. It once and still does hang beautiful portraits of you and I. Yet there is something cynical about the way this infinite beauty reaches out to no where. There is something cynical behind the smiles of the young couple in the portrait. Temporality guises the price one has to pay for such infinite beauty.

What if there was no end? What if there was a wall just as white and just high behind this one that was facing us? What if we escaped out of this yet find ourselves trapped in another room as similar as this? What if our presence here was a result of running from the same circumstances before? What if we never got out?

But what if we do? What if we finally found the way out but never find the way to stop finding the way out?

This to me, is infinity. You and I, we're infinity.