love is a choice not a feeling, right?

that's the thing about memories
you cherish them more when it's gone
you feel pain, you feel hurt
you miss them and wanna go back
but then after a while,
you'll realize, years have already passed

I already said my final bye to the skies.
You love staring at them right?
I hope you can find my last goodbye while you stare at it.
Thank you for everything, I will never forget you.

You have been the sun, the moon, the horizon and all possible metaphors of the word, "love."

But, there is always that one metaphor which is my favorite.

You are my home, always will be.

Every single one of us aren't born perfect.
Some may have more, some may have less.
But there will be no one who have enough, perfectly.

Imperfect is the word, but not exactly depicts the meaning of it.
No man is an island, as they say,
I understood it the way it should be understood.

We are all perfectly imperfect to someone.
An imperfectness in which we can belong to, we can match onto.
An imperfect person that makes every memory perfect.