Conclusions in life are never entirely fulfilled,
tiny threads always need to be attended to.
Never fully accepting them, knowing they are only
imperfect stances of humanity and it's frailty.
Gestures of others, trying to get you to see their
sides, get hopelessly lost when being presented.
Knowing that nothing is perfect, especially not some-
one else's conclusions about things in my life.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem