Countenance.
Our faces are shaped by our years. The passing time carves its paths alongside our temples, corforming the vivid lines casted upon our cheeks, threading through the mazes of our stubbles and falling down into the canyons of our dimples. Time strikes down the elderly, forces the youth onto their knees and raises the newborn up from the ground. Time will tell, it needs not to ask questions. No one can grasp the shoulderblades of time to slow it down, to halt it. We can only ride on its wings and hope never to fall down.
My time is now.
Today I shape my own face.
Tomorrow I shape the face of the world. Ride with me.
.further than our thoughts can reach.
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