The breadth of life’s daily up and down is the time clock of our very existence. The world is a beauty of imperfect souls in a perfect space of time. The critical member of this imperfection is the boodle of mistakes we commit in our endeavour to a better expression of self.
We are often relegated to the thought that the mistakes we make defines us as we are all human. I resent such character appropriation. How we ‘right’ our wrongs defines us. No matter how deepened are the wounds, sullen the relationship or messy that fallout; we failing to act to correct our wrongs is building a comfy palace of mistakes.
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