People hate imperfections.

I love them.

Perfection is easy to love, easy to handle. There isn’t a need for looking deeper, looking further into. There isn’t hard work needed to be done; no one likes to work hard.

Imperfections are different. They require hard work, constant improvements and a deep understanding. Imperfections are works in progress, only never ending with a final full stop.

It’s a torture to keep working. Even people have retirements after working a lifetime.

But I love them. I love them because they have cracks, unfinished portions that create different meanings. They can be interpreted so interestingly. The cracks gives incentive to dig in further, to learn more.

But moreover, imperfections have depth. They give us patience, love and understanding through humbleness of knowing that we have to keep working for the best we can get.

But perfection gave nothing of sorts. It makes you arrogant, self-centered. It makes one selfish and ignorant. It has only one meaning, and it’s often dull. Perfection has one standard and a box to fit. Imperfection has many standards and no box to fit.

Perfection is overrated.

Why be perfect when you can be imperfect?

I played in the rain for you yesterday. I wrote under a great oak tree as the rain gently came in waves; juicy summer raindrops - she spoke differently than ours though.

I stumbled upon a park with a random yellow bicycle standing a lone in it. As I stopped to admire the awkward but beautiful sight the sky opened up!

Sister once told me a quote of yours that I narrated in your little voice as the rain poured….

“I love it when it rains!  It’s like the sky is crying for me when I can’t.”

I cried.

Your momma is beautiful and we drank to that beautiful red hair for you. I know you both are now playing together. I’m glad you have a friend there to keep you company. I know he had to have been lonely.  

I also finished another chapter, love.  It is positive and all smiles this time - the hardest part went first. Everyone misses you.

PS. I met someone.  Well…I saw someone and she sang little mermaid.  She is beautiful, girlfriend.  Smiles for days.  Her monster does that thing. I can tell she is sweet and kind. There is a wild one hiding in there.  Sunday check in on us - I’m trying so hard.

I know you would be telling me to play.  Always encouraging.

I challenged her to adventure games for you.  All of your antics...

I hope she too knows how to play.

I’ll visit you soon. Promises. Loves.

Ohh!  Lappy is fixed - I’m wearing out that keyboard with these fiesty naked fingers. Grrrowwlll!

It was the sunset and the rolling whooshing sound of the waves that returned me to those beaches.  I imagine my footprints are left in the sand strata showing my growth into a boy, later into a young man, and finally, one day, an old man suddenly veering off into the sea. My story will run that following friday in the local paper--a story about a man not deceased but now swimming with the mermaids that bathed upon the sandy shores of his fantastical beach world.

I only asked him to slap me in my face because I knew he’d do it. I knew he’d take his hand from where it fit so sweetly in the curve of my body where my ribs could be seen poking out under boobs and over hips. He’d pick up his hand from where it felt good and he’d make it feel bad. Because I wanted him to. Because I needed him to.

I had faith in his hand to only do as I asked of it. I knew his hand would hit and fingers would enter where they should. Fingers would slide into me when I said “yes” and when I said “yes!” they would go deeper.

I only asked him to go deeper when my voice left my lips to express ecstacy and he was confused because I should have hurt so bad. I asked him to lift me up and throw me down and fuck me so hard I couldn’t stand afterwards. I wanted him to fuck me and leave marks where he did and so he did. Because I asked.

Laying there underneath him during the act was the perfect place to be. I knew he’d turn his face upwards and keep his dick downwards, inside of me, and excavating the parts of me I asked for him to mine. I kept asking, asking, asking and begging and saying “please”. When I begged, he’d cover my mouth which I loved because I couldn’t breathe as well and my insides would burn just like my outsides.

He only asked me if he could stop when tears welled up in his eyes because he couldn’t fuck me like that anymore. He’d collapse onto me and sweat would pool where our chests met. His head would fall onto my shoulder where I let him lay and he’d kiss my neck. I’d let him slow down and rock into me and kiss my neck and bite my ear a little because he knew I liked that. Soon, my muscles tensed around his and his into mine and suddenly, we would both exhale. His hand would come to my cheek and his lips to my lips and then we would lay there together.

Alright, so that’s it then? Time to settle I suppose, because life’s taken me so far I can’t think and my minds barred, my thoughts flowing, I’m tired of it, because the more it does, the more it realizes the life I’m in and I feel within that it’s sickening,The more I think about where I am, the further it disappoints where I was going, a place that was glowing, a place that I once knew like it was where I had been forever but now it’s gone, and unfortunately it had been remembered. I can’t fathom the consequential depths of where my failures are taking me, because I can’t go any further. I can’t go any deeper, because what’s deeper to someone who’s never seen it? What’s deeper to someone who never dared to dream it? What’s deeper can’t be more pain because the pain I’m in is incomparable, but that’s just it I have nothing to compare it to.

To say I’m scared of the path I’ve taken would be an understatement, a sick, twisted reminiscence of the life I lived only serves to lower me, because I’ve seen the heights of where I once was, and the heights of where I once was, now, are too far to see. I suppose non-hyperbolically that I’ve fallen off. The climb back up looks inconceivable, and my desire to attempt it is vapid, because when I do fall off again it’ll be just as harrowing, but at least I’ll have mapped it.

At the same time, I wonder what’s deeper, this route is like a drug, I yearn for it, and the Pain is like a teacher, I learn for it, because the more I seem to learn, the more that this all hurts, and when you see a route to a potential polish, and you fail to do, that’s detrimental knowledge, and it’s failed you.

Maybe these are life’s so called peaks and valleys, and I hope so. But from the peaks I could see all the valleys, and from where I stand, I don’t see peaks, i just see the balance of a world where we all peak and move to lesser mountains, just to pursue what we once knew, because we can’t live without it, but what we once knew is in the past, but we can’t accept it the future, as it’s grim and vast, but may as well go forward, as I haven’t gassed, because if I can feel this pain, I know my emotions last.

Last night I had a dream.

It was quick and to the point.

A flash of steel.

A clean slice.

And, just like that, it was done.

A vertical line

On my arm.

From

Elbow to wrist.

I lifted my head

Quickly.

Wide eyed.

And crazed.

You were shocked

As you met my gaze.

The blood

Shed

Rapids.

It gushed, in rivers.

And

Just like that

I was dead.

I should have left it at Lost, but the bottle was opened

My noggin was tossed into the lions den, broken

Caught on eating bees buzzing bright epiphanies

Honey dripping streams out of false apologies

Insincere, everclear, taking gulps to settle fears

In my walet, letters merely work to provoke heavy tears

Stepping into my casket, basket case how romantic

Frantic phase fully manic, panic buttons in the cabinet

Now let me down the nice way

Dont make a sound till someday

But everyday when I think of you

Feels like a far away bullet just speeding to my brain

The rain soaked through my cotton sweater

The pain felt so much fucking better

After all, call me a masochist

My elaborate plan is to carve my wrists

And starve myself of happiness

Feast on something poisonous

But just enough to make my stomach sick,

My eye sight blur and my fingers twitch

Because death is just too good for me

Suffering and agony

Stuck in love with agony, madly slamming my head on trees