You’re not perfect, you know. Nor am I, but you must know– face this truth, stop letting it rot inside you thinking you can reach this unreasonable thing. Thinking your better than him, her, or me. Everyone has flaws– celebrate this. Everyone wears faces made of scars. It’s not to be ashamed of, yet you think that if you make a mistake the world is over; your failure decides your fate in the most negative of ways. That’s not true, it’s the failures that make you you, your perfect you. Though perfect is only a thing of the imagination; no definition, no solid meaning– its meaningless; an unrealistic goal no one can reach since, as they all say, it’s in the eye of the beholder. What you think is perfect is purely imperfect to me, therefore, perfect you can never be.
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