How'd you get here?

I tend to be an open book
But I am realizing, a lot of people are like those little diaries you get as a child
you know the ones that have a lock on them for no one to get into.
I would try to open those things anyway I could, and to no avail I couldn't unless I had the key.

Because I, sometimes not always... just sometimes, attribute how I am to how others are, I feel like when people first meet me, they think I ask too many questions...
Maybe even make them uncomfortable because I want to know their story, every piece of it.
I understand that getting to know a person is a process
but I love the process, so I am constantly pursuing people's stories...

I wouldn't call myself nosey
I consider myself more as a curious and genuinely intrigued individual

I truly want to know everyone's story that comes into my life
The roads that people have taken to get them where they are, are important to me

Today, I was driving on the freeway looking at the tire marks all over.
One dashing across the entire width of the freeway before disappearing into the gravel
One that swirls around the middle lanes
A set that begin and stop in a dark halt

How did these tire marks happen?
What happened to the people that left them behind?
How did those little marks that are left for me to drive over change someone's life?
How will those marks change my life?
Do they drive passed them everyday and think about what happened?
Could something so permanent for others to see shift someone's destiny?

I want to know those people's stories
I want to know "How'd you get to this point in your life?"
Did your tires screech, halt, swirve, skid across the road
or are you driving through life, not leaving any marks to look back on?

Its things like tire marks on the sixty that get me thinking...

"Humans live in webs of meaning that we ourselves have spun" unknown...