I've come to an understanding with myself. I don't have to be perfect by the world's standards. I don't have to be gorgeous, intelligent, funny. I don't have to be anything, because I am my own kind of perfection. And that can be enough. That can be my everything. Even when I can no longer walk, or talk, when death is knocking on my door, I can be content in myself.
They will lead me away, across the graves, as though, as old as anything could ever be, I am finally,
perfectly finished,
perfectly heartbroken,
perfectly wild.
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Smoke and Mirrors
Lately I've kind of been slowly coming to the strange realization that my life really is bizarre...but not in big cosmic ways. It's on a much smaller scale - the tricks are all smoke and mirrors.
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