Beautiful Imperfection

If I walked up to you, and I told you that you were not perfect, how would you react? Would you become angry at me? Would your face twist up with the hurt of my words, each one a sharp stab to your skin that burrows through to your brain and only torments it more? Would you simply brush me off and disregard everything I said, shoving it back into the closet of your subconscious next to your skeletons?

Because, the truth of the matter is, I do not think you are perfect.

And I do not want you to be.

So please stop trying.

You can deny it if you wish, but I doubt you will. You make it known that your brilliant singing voice is mediocre at best. That your gorgeous blond locks hide that inspired, thoughtful mind you think is tripe and dull. I once called you a butterfly, for you were intelligent, unique and graceful in a way no one else is. You only offhandedly commented that it would be a miracle if you were even close.

And you say that you're working to become perfect at long last. It sorrows me to think that you are not satisfied with yourself. When I hear you speak dreamily of finally being 'good enough' like it's the Aurora Borealis, I feel a part of me crumble. Because I think you're good enough. To say the least.

You say that you don't mind when people spread rumors about you, because you say the only way to stop them is to achieve perfection, but I hear them, and it takes all of my strength not to snap the neck of whoever started them, damn the fact that I may never have met them. You do not deserve the hateful things others say about you, not at all, even if you are not perfect.

Perfection annoys me. First of all, it's nowhere near obtainable. It simply cannot come to pass. We were not created to be perfect, for whatever reason. The more you force yourself to be perfect, the more you force yourself to be something that you are not, and you take away from yourself. And you as yourself are simply amazing, and I do not want to lose that.

But imagine it for a second.

What if you were perfect?

You would be exactly what you tried to make yourself. You will do everything right, you will look perfect, and you will have everything you wanted at your fingertips.

But if you simply just have it, then what's the point?

Life is like a game. You learn your path, you learn how to traverse it, how to work towards whatever goal you have in mind, with your brains, your strength, your connections, your support, your wisdom, all of which are things you yourself have, my dear.

Perfection is like a game already completely cleared. You know every path, you can grab every coin without even trying. You can practically walk to the finish line with your eyes closed. You can play the game, but for what? Hasn't it already been cleared for you?

Soon, you will realize that perfection will turn into nothingness, like immortality. You will crave adventure, excitement, to learn, to be challenged, but you will not be able to because you can simply complete the challenges with the blink of an eye. And then you will become empty. A porcelain statue, smooth and beautiful on the outside, but inside, nothing but air, invisible molecules bouncing around in an empty porcelain cell. Nothing going nowhere.

It is like the book that St. John had eaten in the midst of his revelation- sweet as honey in its taste, but violent in the pain it causes inside.

Now imagine, dare imagine, if you and I were both perfect.

It is similar to the concept of heaven, and one of the reasons I dislike it so. We have had everything done for us, and all that's left is to eat strawberries in the Garden of Eden. In truth, however, we are still as empty, because we have not traveled together. We have not faced the challenges of life, we have not learned about each other, and we have not created the bond that the both of us facing the world would create between us. We would simply be. Hollow, alone right next to each other. Facing a mirror image of ourselves and not a person we truly knew.

But what if I were imperfect, and you perfect? We both get what we wanted?

I would be able to learn through my life as so desired, and would face the aforementioned trials and struggles, and the bonds with others, the reaching of goals on my own two feet. But you would not. You would simply stand there, watching.

Would you start to resent me, that I would be doing all of this? In theory, you would be perfect so you'd be too good to hate me, but in all honesty, I would resent you. I would resent that you had it made so you did not have to do anything to get what you wanted, while I'm out here pouring blood, sweat, and tears into my goals and dreams. I would hate that you did not wish to go through the trouble yourself or even try but would still be declared better than I.

Because in all truth, what makes us good is what we learn and accomplish as imperfects.

But should things remain the same, which I pray they will, and we are both imperfect people, then life will truly be a joy to live. Without perfection, we fall prey to tragedies, to struggles, to pain, to anger, but while they are never good to experience, they leave us stronger, better than we were before. And we will experience them together. We will help each other climb up the mountain. I'll help you up if you fall, keep us steady, make sure we make it to the top. We'll truly become better people than we are now. We won't become perfect.

We'll be better than that.

The way life works is that we work to achieve our goals, and then we do it again. But each time, it's always different. New lessons, new people, new goals. But it never gets to be a broken loop; it's always different. A cycle. The universe works in cycles. The earth's rotation cycle, the moon cycle, the life cycle. Perfection is not a cycle. It's a straight line, like a flat heartbeat.

It's a living death of the soul.

And you are not perfect. While your voice is beautiful, occasionally you use it for insulting yourself way too much. You worry about how what you do affects everyone; even if they have had nothing to do with you, you still worry you've hurt them. And despite your superior intellect, you worry that you're not good enough. Yet you are. There are many other small things that you may not be good at or have trouble with, but we all do, and I want you to accept that. Embrace that. You and I may not have known each other since birth, or even for a large number of years, but what we've done together will forever have an impact on my life.

I don't mean to sound like I'm preaching. I'm honestly not.

I'm just desperate to keep you.

You.

Not the Stepford version of you.

Not even the supermodel version of you.

You. As you are.

The best part of you

what composes your beauty

is imperfection

.

And I mean that. I made that for you. Because I mean that. I hope you'll listen.

So... I've made my case. I hope you'll hear me. My friend, my ally. One of the most important people in my life. And that you'll understand. I don't mean to put my rose-colored glasses on you. I just simply want to snapshot what I see of you in them. And... it's better than any rose I could see in it.

Thanks for reading this. Whatever you do from here on is up to you. Don't be afraid to approach me when you're done. Even if it's just to talk with me like normal. So I can at least see that confident smile on your face again.

Always, forever, love

Me.