Of our existence.
And there will be no perfection…
Not in reflection of a mirror.
Not the walls.
Not the floor.
Not the door.
Not the windows.
Not in anything that’s ever meant to serve…
Inanimate objects made by man.
Until you grasp the perfection of mortality.
In the eternal saga of creation.
A rock, a bird, or a tree…
None seek perfection.
Yet they achieve it.
Simply by being.
It’s just humanity…
The one who judges and deems something…
Either perfect or imperfect.
Beautiful or ugly.
That in itself could be deemed a flaw.
And yet…
By design…
Even all the chaos, destruction and pain…
Are perfect.
As they are.
Perfection does not bend to morality.
It’s just humanity who seeks redemption.
In everything they could possibly find.
And in this desperation, they fall blind.
Unable to see it right in front of them.
The beautiful being…
That they are.
And all the beauty that there is.
Always within reach.
With love.
