My Image of Perfection

She is everything I had decided to be before a certain period: She is independent, free, strong. She has her own apartment. She is a single mother with two kids. She has an awesome job. Drives her car herself around, no driver. She has the respect she deserves in her world of profession and friend circle. One time owned a small company of her own. There is lots more to her awesomeness which I refrain adding here.

She is my image of perfection.

And perfection comes with a price, always. All the struggles, slogging, frustrations, the downs with every up, the attacks to be borne alone with no shoulder support. And she has her own story.

I thought I was immature for wanting all this before I get bound. When I saw she had it, loved it, enjoyed it, I felt sound.

She warned me. I understood.
She talked about harsh realities. I understood again.
She talked about destiny and fate. I disagreed. I didn’t understand. I didn’t feel like voicing it out at that moment, because right then it was one of the most wonderful moment: getting to know.

A bittersweet life, I don’t seem to mind to have now.
Then again I’m young and headstrong. I might get all of it with much more. Including everything I blocked.

Amazing feeling to see my image in a real woman. And that it is not just an image of fantasy.


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