Imperfection

[hells_half_acre]

I like reading short stories.
Romances, but not just any.
Not the stories that are perfect, 
where everyone lives happily ever after,
like teen-movies.
They make me angry,
because life isn't like that.

But the stories that are imperfect - where things are left ambiguous,  where people are left broken shells, but somehow still alive and
strangely content. 
Those make me want to love someone.
Those are the ones that leave me lonely.

I have no one to look at and say:
"Life is fucked up, and we are crumbling behind perfect facades. Breaking, with wide smiles on our faces,
but not completely,
because we both know the truth,
and strangely that makes us happy."

Instead I go to sleep an hour early. I'll lean my extra pillow against my back, and it'll feel like someone is there if I pretend hard enough. When morning comes I'll check my email. Nothing important will be there. I'll read some comics and laugh while I eat cereal. Then I'll look out the window to see what season it is, put on the corresponding coat, and step outside.

No matter what the weather, part of me will say 
"Right now, life is perfect,"
and I'll smile at everyone I see.