Accurate mistery

There are no losses. There are mistakes.

There's no evidence. There's forgiveness.

It's not significant. It's essential.

Everything is qualifiers and flowing in the tide between right and wrong decisions, who can say that knows himself?

Who says that nights are unimportant and days expendable?

Who knows how it's to have balls?

Who knows?

Shortening the sentences to simplify what I mean: strength has arrived.

It has always been there, extinguished in embers and trying to show up in the moments of weakness; those in which the air shouts out imperceptible truths to you.

Like when your ankles go around a hole you know you're not going to fall into.

Like the advice of a friend you decide not to scrupulously follow.

Like a love you need to get rid of so that it doesn't keep burning you.

But you are the fire and then you start it all. Plunging those nights into an infinite light that brings you peace. Because nothing was ever more wrong, or forgivable, or essential. Because qualifiers become irrelevant and there is no judge to announce the sentence.

You begin to shape yourself, to open your mind with every "click" that wakes you up when you see that it is not Thursday for everyone; that you will be confused even as the years go by, and that is the best thing that can happen.

I will not think again "I wish every mile I walk would speak", my silences are already there to say it all. And you, like a mass of carbon orchestrations, trying to order a thread of thoughts that can only materialize in one thing: gratitude for how you are discovering that path.

An accurate mystery in which the wind blows again, saying that you may not be so wrong. Saying that there are no losses, just mistakes.

Saying there's no evidence, but forgiveness.

Encouraging you to take essential things in life.