Picasso had it right, you know...
there is no such thing as perfect.
Yet, there is gratitude in the flaw;
there is hope in the falsehood.
She appeared to me
as the manifestation of a fantasy.
I thought that
the perfection within her
blossomed her appearance as symmetry.
The madness
of my obsession cemented
upon her scent.
The string instrument
vibrations of my heart so nuanced,
so rare, yet, so familiar a dream as to be recollections
of heaven.
If she, living, tastes like love,
do delicious pastries
taste like death
The more I knew of her,
the less I knew
pain,
until...
From our love,
so robust in its ripeness,
time gormlessly gorged upon us,
and we decayed,
like seeds in the apple
trapped and never to be free.
It was then that I saw her flaws
and it seemed they were "real"
The distortions grew numerous
and each beauty lost appeal,
peeling away to slowly reveal
the scars that Frankenstein
couldst never, ever heal,
for his monster's myriad scars
are the pillars of its humanity...
Picasso measured the conflicted angles,
and saw perfection would rob them of life.
It is the awkward jostling of misshapen things
that gives them movement, as they ever so try to
shift into place, but if they were to do so,
they would be as the yonder rock,
or the caged boiling soup
of ancient fuel all
perfection
will
be
...
So
I let her go;
I freed myself of
the death I refused to
become. And when she broke,
I told her,
"When you are whole,
you will be happy to break, again."
Break bread with love.
I had, until today, maintained the belief,
that perfection is simply the highest potential
of what we are capable of in the moment.
Yet, I have found myself constantly trying to achieve my potential,
ignoring the fact that I was not capable of potential,
I was only capable of trying.
It means that
Instead of reaching for the goal,
I should have been making the necessary steps
(one step at a time)
and not forcing an insanity upon myself of what I understood as
the full extent of my ability,
because the more I expected my best in each moment,
then failed to succeed and later regretted my "inability", the more I lost sight of the fact that some moment are meant to be,
simply enjoyed for their
worth.
You see, I lost my conception of value, and furthermore the ability to practice evaluation. This occurs when you lose touch with reality.
I won't go on and on about it, so, this is where my commentary ends today.
In conclusion: if we lose touch with reality, we have to get back to what we understand is real: our core conception of reality; and build from there... we may just find that we are remaking ourselves, as the person we were before was headed to nowhere, or to disaster... don't waste away and waddle in despair.
I hope you've enjoyed this! Peace :)
DEW