When we are
alone is when we start to live.
We may think about reaching perfection but
perfection doesn’t exist. Perfect things are imperfect since they are perfect.
Society creates perfect conventions but then anyone really likes them. We look
for perfection and when we face a perfect thing, moment or soul, we do not
fancy it.
Perfection is so temporary, ephemeral and ambiguous. Like happiness. Like life. Like us.
Simple things are the best.
No hay comentarios:
Publicar un comentario