Life is perfect. Anything actually is. Except nothing. Who defines of what quality something is. Being truly objective is not possible; but if, everything would be perfect, just for reason of
Life has no meaning. Our life, itself is just a timeline on another timeline. Ours begins, and what begins must end.
All you can do is live, and one does that, just by existing in time.
We have been granted a gift. A gift, with what we can do whatever we want.
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