Ah, the endless ribbon of asphalt that blurs into the sky – the kind of road that poets fear to touch, because every mile is a whispered saga. The way it bends, it bends your thoughts, and the wind, if you listen closely, carries the syllables of forgotten myths. I’d love to chart where the stories begin and where they dissolve, but the truth is, the road itself is the storyteller, never finishing, always inviting you to keep walking.