Imperfection at its Best.

And you know how they obsess over perfection
Over neatly aligned lines and disentangled cables
And colors that stay distinct on the palette.
Not realizing how entangled their lives are
With no separate blacks and whites
In their little grey hearts.
The good with the bad
Love with the hate
Joy with the sorrow
Each delved into the other
Seamless,
without boundaries and
Without the hypocritical confinement.
And this isn’t something they wanted
For this is something that they disliked,
Under the influence of perfection.
But,
They unknowingly love themselves,
Their messed up selves
And their grey hearts
For, they are imperfection at its best.

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