Life is like a train, always on the move. The landscapes change as you watch them through the window of your cabin, and as they do, so do you. Soon, when you look back, 50 years have passed. 50 landscapes, 50 of you, 50 graves for 50 of your buried selves.

What did these eyes see, what did these eyes witness? How many secrets, how many sorrows, how many worries came before these eyes? These questions will be buried with all your 50 selves, under the 50 tombstones that stand tall over your life, your death, your everything.

From dust to dust.