You could stop wreaking yourself for those imperfections.
You still keep that windy picture a stranger took for you. And you cherish the handmade gifts in clumsy wraps. Those smudges of paint on your wall, the knitted once oversized sweater that doesn't fit you anymore, the inept notes of a piano is where your heart lives. You never got rid of that fountain pen even when it stopped writing five years ago. You could let go of the perfect picture but you could never do without that tiny mole on her nose, the way she stumbles when she walks with you, the painting that she is when her hair is a mess and the Sun is all over her face. You couldn't, because naive flawlessness never made your muse sing, the precious blurry blotches did.
So in those silent nights when all you feel is a crack in your soul and insignificance rushing in, don't let yourself sink, for it might seem like you're a shipwreck when you really are the perfect sunrise to someone else.
