I am a big fan of imperfection. I am not sure whether I am “not a perfectionist” but I cringe and feel restless if everything around me is perfect and I enjoy imperfections of my own (mostly) and other’s too.
Hence I chose to write on it.
We forget who we are,
We forget our beginnings,
Our humble beginnings, sculpting to evolve.
Directed by that one notion,
The notion of perfection was it?
No my dears, the notion of its better half rather,
The insatiable imperfection.
Where would we be without imperfection?
Dwelling in caves and hunting like mere animals I fear.
We derive intent from it,
And our lives are for forever riding on it,
As we steer to fulfill our cravings.
All our clouds have silver linings,
The silver lining, an enchanting view of our hope,
And a sign of imperfection in our nemesis’s.
Its imperfection that we thrive on,
And sans it life would be sans itself.
Hence the hope for forever lasting imperfection,
Hope it keeps role playing the role of the “perfect pole star”.