This is my favorite month of the year for more reasons than
one, but if you think about it, it’s not the perfect month. It’s not as cold and beautiful as a foggy
December morning, it’s not as pleasant and lively as an April evening breeze.
It’s humid, it’s tacky, it has potholes and ditches with rainwater. It is a
prequel to something beautiful that is about to come but not there yet. I carry
this taste with me in everything I like, including people.
I am not a fan of perfection. I think it is highly
overrated. I like broken things and I like fixing them. Maybe it’s a symptom I
need to get checked out but for now let’s assume I’m normal. I find people who know
what it means to be crumbled, appealing. They have been shattered before and
they have learned how to pick up those fragmented pieces, stick it all together
and move on. The one quality which will be synonymous among them is that you will
never realize just how ruptured they have been until they let you. You could
spend years knowing a person and still know nothing about them. That doesn't make them two faced, not at all, it’s just their way of caring about you,
because they know their baggage is too heavy for someone else to share. So they’ll
carry it themselves for as long as they have to without even an inclination of
bowing down because of the weight. These are the people who have so much
personality hidden inside them that no one unearths. I aspire to be someone who
could unwrap it, even if it’s just the top most layer. It’s a healing feeling
that I can’t describe. I know I sound twisted, maybe it’s my own blanket I unfolded tonight, maybe it doesn't need to be a person to do that, a blank
sheet of paper holds more power than most things in life and maybe a blank
sheet of paper is my healer indeed.
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