Picture Perfect

Perfect is a relative unit that bends with society expectation and emotional longing. That is one way to explain perfect, but it is a relative explanation of a relative unit after all. But what if you don’t like the ideal perfect?

In this world today, liking the way you are is a rebellious act. It’s painful to not pretend of having the same idea of perfect, because you are instantly dealing with so many judgments by then. People even argue over different tastes of music, so what is the limit to that? How many times did you held your breath to please everyone around you? How much the idea of messing everything’s up and bearing living as a walking failure consumes you?

I am not proud of my perfect. There is fear to go with my perfect and fail to provide even my own expectation. Perhaps it’s the ache of all the people that would be there with long lectures about how they had told me beforehand to follow their path instead. Maybe I’m just a coward that loves being sedated by the society-hating attitude I’m faking, because I still very much want to be the part of it. Before I realize, I’m fading into the background, afraid of saying the different thing. Passionate thing. Love thing. And I fear I’ll be afraid of saying myself next.

Maybe one day, you’ll wake up seven in the morning to the fresh air in the perfect of your own. Maybe one day, you’ll wake up with a revelation that you never need to pretend anymore.

"Are you doing what matters or just reacting to the noise?" Brandon Burchard.

x, Michelle