A Fling with the Past

Sometimes, probably, it is fun to spoil something very perfect. It seems almost perfect and absolutely right to spoil it. If it is too perfect, the adventure is dead. If it is too perfect, it is very comfortable.

No one likes to be thrown out of a something that is constant. It shakes their whole being of existence at that moment. It is like throwing someone out of their home. Probably. It is painful. But if it is perfect, there is no room for infinite.

There is nothing as perfect. There is something as almost perfect. When it is almost perfect, there is this pull to keep on chasing perfection. I am repeating.

Did I make sense?

This logic is mixed with emotion. This logic is a consolation.
Thus, the improper links.


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