Infinite to me is all the milliseconds, seconds, minutes and hours of our lives we can’t measure because it’s impossible. Whatever his history no one but he will know what he has seen, heard, spoken. The mind boggles when I think about how many times he may have blinked, or cried or laughed; how many hairs are on his head, how many have fallen out? How many times has he inhaled and exhaled? What things has he looked upon and how many?
His life, that was, is infinite to me and, after I took this photo, still is.