The most beautiful side of life is that as a story it constantly unfolds. No matter how much we think we are wise, it is only when we realise that we know nothing that we begin to unfold our story. As long as we think we know the rules and have enough and needed experience, we have actually gripped our story wrapped in a roll. Life is a story that, in order to be revived, must constantly unfold, otherwise we have only the semblance of life. Freed from our own tightness, the story begins to read its chapters on its own, we just need to be careful readers, not tense, careful. Imagine how many wonderful chapters we missed because we thought we were wise. How many missing pieces are needed to keep the story alive, we thought we knew and had no idea about? Of course, no one has the formula and the exact information on how many parts of the story are missing, but this is a charm, because every definition kills the story. And the story itself wants to tell us about us, only if we are not proud. The untold story remains subdued, the told one, the one that unfolds, becomes life. An untold story is always one decision away from life.