Nearly Impossible

 All day long, I've been waiting for the perfect moment to understand what happened. There is no possible way for me to know what went wrong. What was the perfect timing that determined this mess? We write to express something, to express what our mind is sometimes to busy to let it go public. We mark people, they mark us. It's almost impossible where is the line that separates each other. We cross their paths in order to learn something, in order to share what our soul has to give. How to know the difference, if what a person had, was yours shared or theirs to repair? It's nearly impossible. Learn from every single experience and always keep moving forward. This life, in which our physical body is experimenting, must be always used for learning. That's what I'm planning on doing.