What if each of the tiny lines on your fingertips stood for past lives. An eternity of past childhood's and past manhood's now forgotten, shrunk into patterns so you can carry them around like a map on your skin. If you could read the map would you change it this time round? or let it sink into the skin and learn your lessons, make your mistakes, forget your truths. That's the knack of retrospect, you can look back with a bird's eye view and feel omnipotent, feel that ecstasy, that tremendous sense of peace knowing that when you were at the edge - you leaped.

'The Edge...there is no honest way to explain it because the only people who really know where it is are the ones who have gone over'
- Hunter. S. Thompson