During our short stay with life, the most unforgiving enemy is ourselves. Our missteps stain our souls and regardless of effort we seemingly can't remove the ugly tint. As a result, we seek redemption which is endlessly lingering on the horizon and never an inch closer regardless of effort.
In truth, life is not a reconstruction of the past but a construction of the present. Our lives pass as pages in a sketchbook. On each day we decide the beauty of the page until our book is finished. The present page is the page which requires our ink.
