Perfect Imperfection

I open my eyes to see a black ceiling. Not black, but a deep blue. The moonlight is rolling into the room through my cheap blinds. All of a sudden I see a flashing red and blue come into the room. At least once a night for 3 months I have seen that flashing red and blue in my apartment. I close my eyes and let my other senses do the seeing. I hear banging and crashing and mindless yelling below me. Doors slamming, music blasting, kids crying. The smell of weed is pouring through the cracks in my door.

If this is all you read, you would picture my life to be small, poor, lonely, and insignificant. And in a lot of ways, it is. In a lot of ways, I have nothing. And in a lot of ways I have everything.

My eyes are still closed and I can feel her breathing. I don’t hear her breathing but I feel the rhythm of her chest on my ribs. I feel the curls in her hair rub against my nose. I open one eye to see her head laying so naturally on the indent of my chest. Slowly, I slide my hand up her shirt and caress her bare back. My fingertips slide through the ridges of her spine. She looks up at me, opens her eyes ever so slightly, and whispers, “Abee, I have to go. but I don’t want to” and lays her head right back on my chest. I whisper back, “then don’t.” She looks at me, smiles, says, “okayy”

I know the reality of the world around tells me that it is 11:00 pm in Virginia Beach. However, in this room, it feels as if it is 3:00 am in a small town in some exotic country. A kind of town where nobody knows nobody. A kind of town where people go to be alone. A kind of town where young love can last. I love imaging going to a faraway place. A place that takes me from the pain and the bitterness that stirs up in my city. And all of a sudden, that thought of pain, that moment of weakness, opens a floodgate of fears. I keep asking myself, why him? Does she love me? Does she love him? I feel weak, I feel betrayed, I feel… human.

I stop letting myself think and just rub my hand on her warm back. It makes the fears go away. It makes me think that this room and this time is special. Like there will never be another time and place like the time and place we are in right now. And in a lot of ways that is a true statement. There will never be another time and place like right now. I will never rub my hands on her back the same way. And she will never lay her head on my chest the same way. And the moon will never seep through the blinds in the same way. This makes this moment unique. And this uniqueness makes this moment perfect. Imperfectly perfect.

If this is all you read, you would picture my life to be small, poor, lonely, and insignificant. And in a lot of ways, it is. In a lot of ways, I have nothing. And in a lot of ways I have everything.


Perfect Imperfection
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