Don’t ask me where I’m going, don’t ask me where I am. I don’t know anymore than you.
The truth is, somewhere between our eleventh pit stop at Wal-Mart, and defending my innocence to the receptionist, I realized that it doesn’t matter. Nothing matters, and the only thing that means anything is the meaning we ascribe. And whatever we say, we’re right.
Kind of funny, how we’re all just put here to wonder, not really given any answers other than the ones we choose to make up.
There’s so much we’ll never understand.