A man would do nothing if he waited until he could do it so well that no one could find fault. ~ John Henry Newman
There is nothing called perfection for humans. Those humans who keep on learning from the day they come out from womb and till the day they die. Yes! even death is something new for their experience. They keep learning everything, they find new ways of failing. Isn’t it?
Humans are the most weird organism. They are just afraid of showing their worries and sadness. There is always this need to make a face or strike a pose. It is all so superficial. They are not comfortable for something but they pretend like everything is fine for no reason. May be they just don’t want to disclose their self insecurities or don’t want to share to make them feel bad. It’s just perspective. This is how they try to frame so called their perfect biopic.
They are like feeling so unhappy but surrounded by everything they really need. They don’t understand life is like a game of puzzle where you need to frame everything by your own imaginary picture. People are like pieces. There are zillion of possibilities. You just see them everyday, over and over again. You can make picture of luminescence of joy, where the pursuit of happiness ends with the end of rainbow. Everything is right behind them but they just can’t figure it out.
They are like feeling so alone but living in a big apartment full of people whom they never talk. Want to say something to someone but can not say for no reasons. They all need someone for their help and support. They are meant to be like can do everything alone but still it’s not practical for anyone. You need some delivery boy to bring your pizza when you’re tired from all your monotonous work and don’t want to cook anything in the kitchen.
They are just programmed to be a something called perfection. Life by many means is very simple smooth road without any destination but milestones that we mark for ourselves. But a smooth road is always boring to drive. They need thrills to make us feel we are alive. They need pot holes on our way. This is how they all get damaged. This is so blaspheme.
For a woman her beauty is what everyone defines. No matter what skills she have but without her beauty she is defined to be as incomplete personality. But still she is just a human. Her face, her skin is not immortal like her beautiful soul. She keep changes from her body every tick-tock. Cells are dividing, regenerating, mitosis-meiosis is happening. She is not in the same body as she was in 7 years before.
Her mirror sings:
Now I am a lake. A woman bends over me,
Searching my reaches for what she really is.
Then she turns to those liars, the candles or the moon.
I see her back, and reflect it faithfully.
She rewards me with tears and an agitation of hands.
Her man sings:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering.
There is a crack in everything,
That’s how the light gets in.
For him her so called flaws are just the way he loves her everyday for no reason. Because out of all the flaws he is stumbled on, it’s the hardest one to focus on. This is how life goes by. There should be no fear. It’s the rule of nature.
It’s always a point of view and here everything little thing is subjective. It’s simply want you want to see. It can be accidental or absolutely irrelevant for someone. There are always some messages to be ignored. It’s all about the prospective. They take it for fun, ignore it or take it so seriously.