You have come to the World... Isn’t it true, it seems that the World entirely belongs to you?.. Life is a blank canvas on which you paint a picture of a unique destiny, approved by the Almighty. There is no greater happiness than to apply your own hand to the infinity of strokes and moments of existing existence. It doesn’t matter that often an unfinished creation, under the gusts of universal winds, topples onto the Earth... You only become stronger. A masterpiece worthy of imitation is about to emerge from under the brush. A masterpiece of someone's life, written out by the winding paths of fate. This is what Man thinks... Forgetting that the world was created by an Artist. This is his workshop and his canvases, these are his paints and brushes... Who are the people for him? I would like to think that we deserve to be colors, or - oh, pride! - whole paintings. Can’t believe that you were born to be just thin hairs in his divine brushes? Some hairs live in bright brushes, others remain in the paintings of Eternity. Still others are washed off dirty tools. There are also those who never get to experience the smell of fresh paint. Dry, colorless, forgotten... But... These are transitory little things... Nothing prevents the True Creator from using the huge World as paint, a brush or a microscopic hair, which will either settle on his next masterpiece, or... He, like so many others, destined to be washed away by the river of Time.