Perfect

What is Perfect?
Does Perfect exist?
Is Perfect really the absence of flaws,
Or those same flaws that make someone unique?

Is Perfect those eyes that I have looked into,
Those beautiful, entrancing eyes?
I find myself getting lost in them,
Loving every minute of it.
But while bringing happiness,
They carry a saddened quality,
Sharing secrets of troubled times,
Some experiences wishing to be forgotten, but can’t
Because of the lessons they have provided.

What is a Perfect day?
Most people hope for a bright, warm sun,
Maybe a few puffy clouds,
Nothing short of a flawless, storybook setting.
For me, a Perfect day can come in a lightning storm.
Yes, it rains, it’s dark,
And sometimes the thunder can be overpowering,
But I can accept the imperfections in order to see the true beauty of the storm.
Seeing the lightning makes everything else unimportant.

Is Perfect the feeling you get,
Excitement, pure joy,
From hearing how that special someone has been feeling or what they’ve been doing?
Face to face, on a phone, through a letter,
It doesn’t matter.
The connection itself makes your whole day worthwhile.

If someone is Perfect,
Can they doubt themselves?
Is it Perfect to see things in yourself
And decide they are flaws?
Is it Perfect to try to be so much more,
Not knowing you are already so much?
Is Perfect in the soul of someone
So genuine and pure,
Caring and loving?
Of someone who blames themself to defend a loved one’s guilt,
Who cares so much for others,
Sometimes knowing the care won’t be returned?
I have met Perfection,
I know someone can be Perfect while carrying flaws.
I am amazed that she even acknowledges me,
I was nothing, she was everything.
She is everything.
She is so deserving of someone else,
Someone better,
Yet she knows my name,
She gives me a chance.
That is more than I ever could’ve asked of her
I know what Perfect is,
And I love her.

She is Perfect.