imperfections and disappointments
defines a person.
so why are you looking for perfection?
there's only one kind of perfect,
and then there's the countless imperfects.
for the flesh is weak,
and the world is its tempter,
without a constant glimpse of recognition,
as age gives it a new face.
you hurt me,
you always do,
and yet,
thank you for the imperfections.
my nightingale,
sing your song.
Subscribe to:
Post Comments (Atom)
No comments:
Post a Comment