I pride myself in the imperfection of it all. How nothing really is... the piece that wouldn't fit. But I figure that at least means an interesting life, a different life. The one who didn't make it to the end of the carpet, and stumbles when "they" see. But it is fine. It is me.
Sometimes answers of black and white don't cut it for me, and I truly believe that nothing is simple. There are wires behind the screen and veins under our skin... memories inside the brain.
So what is perfect?
Not you, not me.
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