Imperfection

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Marvel. Stand in awe before this imperfection.

Don’t avert your gaze, pretending there exists a treasure of greater value.  Admire the oils of this painting, where the brush was confident and where it fell to its knees in a breathless gasp of surrender. Surrender and let your eyes be free to roam the landscapes of my being. Cherish every detail and remember every secret within the creases of my palms.

Don’t hide your face behind words that swell with meaning; don’t play me symphonies of heavy verses and loaded phrases. Close that book that lies of laws and rules of how to master silence into music. Let it be.

Fold away the maps that guide you through studied alleys and shorter routes. Make it an adventure. Blindfold imagination and let it see what there is for what there is. Tame it; bring it down to earth and let it learn, admire, stand in awe. Let it learn how to create a world of imperfection.

Sit back and watch me. Watch me stumble across perfect surfaces and reincarnate elegance on broken floors. Listen to me laugh at nothing, and watch me lose the essence of a joke. Hear me sing prose of passion, and hear me say it wrong. Watch me dance in perfect step and out of beat. Watch me sway to falling rain.  Listen to me debate your logic, and watch me confused at what to wear. Watch me cry with characters of written words, and then listen to me tell you of their stories. Then, take that imperfection—a waltz of colours, an orchestra of sounds—and put it within your eyes, so that you can marvel. Stand in awe.