What if...? A question we ask to hurt ourselves.

Perfection is a moving target

Sometimes we have so much to say, we cannot say it. Sometimes it's best we do not say goodbyes.

Which people take the time to care for their souls, these days? I reckon not many. But...hear this: I think that maybe in our lives - in our scrabbling for food, in the washing of our bodies and warming of them, in our small daily battles - we can forget our souls. We do not tend to them, as if they matter less. But I don't think they matter less.

But maybe the best thing I learnt was this: that we cannot know a person's soul and nature until we've sat beside them, and talked.

Stories are thick with meanings. You can fall in love with a story for what you think it says, but you can't know for certain where it will lead your listeners. If you're telling a tale to teach children to be generous, they may fix instead on the part where your hero hides in an olive jar, then spend the whole next day fighting about who gets to try it first. People take what they need from the stories they hear. The tale is often wiser than the teller.

I believe the world is as we choose to view it. Simple as that. Our happiness is, in the end, up to us, and to no one else.