I wonder how we run behind beautiful things to make it perfect.
Perfect person, perfect couple or perfect job...
And how we avoid being perfectly broken, perfectly loved and perfectly healed.
Is life all about perfection of the things which are just so natural and beautiful in itself?
Or is it okay... To not be answerable to anyone,
To be comfortable with our own imperfect thoughts, our imaginations, our loneliness?
Just as some imperfect portrait.
~ZOE