I know perfect doesn’t exist, as I’m told. Though I strive for perfection until it makes me sick. Silly me, I suppose. But for a quick moment I paused my never ending struggle to build every element of my life into a tower of flawlessness to give you a chance. Cause, in fact, you were far off my train of perfection. You might as well been across a thousand seas than anything I had imagined myself attaching so ever deeply too. For I presumed the combination of our personalities would be a wreck of its own. You carry the failing trait of trying only a million times too hard and consistently misusing every grammatical term known to the English language in which I take so much pride. But a girl gets lonely this day in age and there you were, oh so willing and wanting. So I closed my weary eyes, figured this couldn’t last long, and proceeded sharing kiss after kiss with the ginormous blond thing I now call my own. Until the day my lower abdominals felt the immense pressure of something that had been growing for 60 plus days. And I sunk beneath. I gave into the large elongated teeth that form one of warmest smiles I’ve ever fell in love with, easily brought out in the batter of my eyes. I melted deeply into the green specs of the pair of eyes that refuse to leave mine after every instant. The strong grabs of my bare skin as if I were to fall apart. And in some gravitation of all I used to know, granted to keep you only for myself. So reluctantly I saw some clouded daylight that the beau ideal of my hazy perfectness might as well been there in search of me. A mind fuckery to say the least but my paragon has been obtained in and only through the gentlemen I’ve grown so superbly fond of. My imperfection who has dropped it’s -im. Nevertheless and simply, you are my perfect.