Life will never be perfect. It can never be. A perfect life is not what I live for. I live for the moments I deem perfect. The sunrise I watched and couldn't stop smiling to myself because it just felt so perfect. It surely wasn't, the ground was wet and there were strangers around. But it's the imperfections that made it so perfect for me. When mum and I held hands to sleep. Grocery shopping when I was just a little girl. Maybe it really wasn't how I remember it but I would like to believe it felt wonderful. When I begged mum I wanted chocolates and she said okay. Maybe it was the night we shared, songs playing from the macbook, an ashtray filled habit. The days when I woke before everyone else and had the whole house to myself. I would ravage the kitchen, pretending I was a cook show host then sit myself in front of the television. Feeling extremely contented. Some nights I sink myself into these perfect moments and wish to live them over and over and over again. But a tick of reality strikes and I come to my sense.
It's time to live new perfect moments. Imperfectly.
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