Perfect

        A dream. 

        A wish. 

        A want. 

        A need! 

        Perfection was what she craved. Sure she wanted to exude it in every step, every action, or word spoken. And that she had achieved. But she also wanted the perfect face. The perfect height, the perfect voice, the perfect hair, the perfect lips. But not on her. Oh no. 

        On him.

        She had a picture of Mr Perfect, which she kept to herself. A picture that she was ashamed of. A picture she knew she would never attain.

        She thought maybe one day, he would pull her into his warm embrace and kiss the top of her coils. That he would whisper how beautiful she was. Express how much better she made his life. Maybe she’d make a snarky comment and his deep chuckle would rattle her core.

        She prayed one day she would meet him and they’d take a stroll in a breezy clearing and sit under a fat shady tree. They’d talk about their traumas and he’d understand why she felt the way she did because he had been through something similar. He’d comfort her and remind her of how amazing she was. He’d feel honoured to share such an intimate moment with her. 

        She wished that hopefully one day, they’d be away from the hell she’d endured. White silk sheets tangled on the bed where he lay whilst she basked in the early morning sun. Leaning on the balcony of the hotel room overlooking the rich seas. A tiny black robe tied loosely around her waist. Her hair took the wind with great pride.

        Then slowly, strong yet gentle arms would snake around her waist and pull her into intense warmth. A giggle would escape her as he placed a kiss on her neck. A raspy good morning would kiss her eardrum as he pulled her tighter, letting her know that she was safe in his arms allowing her usually stony and monstrous facade to finally melt away. 

        A lone tear trickled down her face in the black of night. The song that re-ignited those fantasies playing on repeat in the lonesome darkness. Her chest weighed that of a thousand men. Her brain finally accepted the truth. That blade in her palm itching for blood.

        She knew she would never have him. She knew she would never have those fantasies made reality. She knew that it would always be nothing but a dream. A mess like her would never find Mr. Perfect to hold and call her own. She knew she would never have someone to love her. Not lust after her, not be attracted to her. But love her. Make her their world. To whisper that she was perfect. 

        She was too broken. Too toxic. She was nothing but a bag of bones and problems. She was a travesty that would fuck him up. She was nothing but wasted space, under the guise of a soon-to-be successful human. She was nothing, and maybe that was why she would never attract him. 

        She didn’t want him to save her. She didn’t want him to change her. She wanted him to love her. Love all of her scars. Love her though her trauma was evident. Love her for her. Not the version of herself that she projected to be accepted by others. But the true her.

        The her that was broken and battered. That was emotionally destroyed yet tried to repair the damages. The her that was so far from perfect as could be. The her that didn’t deserve him.

        Maybe that was why that song depressed her. His melodious voice sang of the love she didn’t know she wished she had. The story the songbird told with lyrics so accurate to the life she created with Mr Perfect in her maladaptive daydreams. Maybe that was why when she heard the song for the first time, she fought copious amounts of tears. 

         Yet, she still imagined him holding her in the safety and security of his arms. His voice sang along in her ear. A kiss he would place at her temple as she leaned in. The soft caresses of her skin he would make as he professed his love to her. And though the night would be old, he would show no intentions of stopping. Though his schedule was packed in the up-and-coming hours, swaying in her arms under the light of candles would be his top priority. For once, she would be someone’s priority. For once she would be…

        Perfect…