I am flawed: tainted, defective, tarnished. Always wrong. Always failing.
Not like you. You're perfect. Beautiful. Flawless.
You make me look bad.
And sometimes I wish I could take you down a peg, distill you into something easier to swallow.
If only you were flawed like me, I wouldn't feel so guilty.
I turned away from you, and you ran after me.
I lost myself, and you searched for me.
I was broken, and you broke for me.
Perfection deserves perfection. But you chose to love someone as imperfect as me.
Do you mind if I call that a flaw?
This is deep.
ReplyDelete