(I'm new here, so bear with me)
Infinite is that feeling of loneliness, and disempowerment that dogs the steps of a college student. Where one face is another face, and the clothes you're wearing are the same as yesturday. Infinite is when sleep hounds you, but that paper is due, and you're so sick and tired of it you want to scream. Infinite is that moment of tension in your chest, when the pain is too much, and you just want to scream. Infinite is that silence.
Infinite is that happy laugh, that brings children to their knees in silent reverence of your voice. Infinite is that belief in a time not gone gray, not full of silent somber attitudes. Infinite is lost on those who care. Infinite is for those who are the happy laugh that is so loud, it breaks a heart with the piercing of it's echos.
Infinite is wisdom, the actions of an old soul, and a young heart. Infinite is the end of all, and the beginning of memory. Infinite is where I stand, and you meet me in the sandy dunes of lost reveries. Infinite is the spirit of the wandering religious man, dropping his pamphlets on the ground like small, roosting birds.
Infinite is loneliness. Lost. Forgotten. But infinitely existant.