He held out the bouquet of flowers
They were perfect just like everything about him
I looked from the flowers to him….from the perfect hair cut he always maintained
, the expensive shirt that looked like it had never been worn, the demin jeans to the expensive loafers…..
even in denim he looked polished with in an inch of his life
He looked so put together , he always did
The image of perfection
And slowly I could feel the strain of trying to maintain my smile
And once again I knew this was not going to be the day I felt the fire
The kind of fire I read about in books
The kind of fire they sang about in the songs
The kind of fire that was brought to life in the movies
The kind of fire that transcended into butterflies in the stomach
The kind of fire that fuelled the heart to run a mile a minute
I looked down at my battered converse sneakers
Once again reminded reminded of how I could not measure up to perfection
“hello beautiful” he said holding out the flowers
He even sounded perfect
Perfection is supposed to ignite the fire right?
Perfection is supposed to be good for you right?
It’s healthy they say …
So I will forget about the other side….the other one
Because he wears ripped jeans
Because he is covered in tattoos
Because he doesn’t keep a presentable hair cut
Because he ignites that fire
Its toxic they say….
So I reach out and receive the flowers
