I am imperfect but I am growing increasingly happy with my imperfections, rendering them void. I am not dependent on someone else for my happiness. I choose my feelings and I am in control of when I have them and when I don't. I can have whatever I want as long as I remember I need to work for it and just because I have it doesn't mean I quit working. I am allowed to decide what the rules are. I can also decide when they will change. But I can't decide to change them just because it's easy. I can stop chasing the attributes of other people and focus on my own.
Walking through a forest at the gloaming and watching the sun come up over a large body of water both elicit a suspension of disbelief, from what I don't know because those two things are about as real as real gets. Perhaps a suspension of time and place where imperfections are beautiful because they are only compared to other imperfect things.
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