Romans & histoires Beautiful Imperfections

Imperfect — said by a man who had built an entire kingdom on precision — was the equivalent of another person laying themselves completely open. I felt something move in my chest. Not the mark. Not the bond. Just me. Just the specific feeling of caring deeply about someone's imperfection because it was real and it was offered and it was his. "I know," I said, for the third time. Softly. He reached out.

Come to think of it, her and Elena are actually very similar. Brenda and I are mutual friends. Like, we wave to each other and smile but we don't talk talk. Just simple small talk here and there. There's also the whole point with her saving my life and me having a crush on her boyfriend and yadda yadda but we needn't get into that. I sigh dreamily, wishing I could be Brenda Sommers. Because Heaven and Hell know that I've had a big, fat crush on Reese Sultan since the end of last year. Why? Because he's absolutely perfect. And you don't find guys like him anymore.

Still I didn't ran away , my pace wasn't hurried , I wished my mother would rush behind me . She didn't. She never does . After all it was her absolute humiliation and embrassment that she created some one so ugly and imperfect like me . I was nothing just an imperfect imitation and Once upon a pageant queen of every pageant of my mother wanted nothing more than to wipe this imperfection off her perfect family . Only she couldn't And neither could I.

"You made it happen. Not me! Don't blame me because you failed to be a good fiance." "Emma what the hell do you want from me? I'm a human being. I'm a guy and we're not perfect." "Don't give me that sorry excuse of a 'guy' and the 'we're not perfect' crap. That's crap and you know it. Since when did I ask you to be perfect?" "Look, I'm trying here, but you're making this difficult for me." "And you're not making it difficult for me also? I'm the one carrying babies that you seem to not want anymore." I began to cry. This asshole just messed up my entire morning.

I tried to forget him, but it is not working" Chimamanda admits almost in tears. "Come on, Sis, don't cry, don't even try to hide it, let the feelings grow, build something new with him. From what I've researched, he seems to be a nice guy and, most importantly, let go of the past, don't allow it to deprive you of your happiness. Now get up, let's go, you have a Prince charming waiting downstairs". Chimamanda arranged her make-up tools back to their position, looked at the mirror one more time to admire her work of art. She picked up her clutch purse and phone.

It was never in my nature to hurt women. I was staring more at the masterpiece in front of me than the one she was creating. I loved it when she squinted her eyes as she thought of what color to use and when her eyelids moved when she seemed to decide on something. Her eyes were still puffy from crying, but it did not lessen its beauty. I loved it when she wrinkled her pointed nose when she sniffed or when she seemed displeased with the outline. I loved it when she nibbled on her lips or when she pursed them. Tara is so beautiful, and I love everything about her.

It started with sincere love and kindness because doing such things costs you nothing. Thanks to Mr. Stephen, people like him made me a princess overnight. And those that had given up on love, destiny, family and hope... I've come to realize that nobody is left behind. No matter how perfect, or imperfect you think you are. I want you to know that life isn’t meant to be lived perfectly…but merely to be LIVED. Boldly, wildly, beautifully, uncertainly, imperfectly, magically LIVED. Since no one is perfect, it follows that all great deeds have been accomplished out of imperfection. Yet they were accomplished, somehow, all the same. There is nothing more rare, nor more beautiful, than a woman bei

It's the ball in my neck, and I want nothing more than it to shrink and leave me alone. I am Emma Rhodes, the model at Model Perfect. Models must be perfect and show off a glamorous life that doesn't really exist. In an imperfect world, that strives for the perfect. The world tells us who we are and what we know. And what I know is this lump, is my doom. It could lift me up or tear me down depending on my test results. I sit in a small chair at the back of the doctor's office. The ticking of the clock is agony, and every strike of the clock makes the hairs on the back of my neck rise. The door opens and a nurse calls my name.

"You. Nothing, and no one, in this life will ever compare to your beauty." I was sincere in each of my words. Camila is beautiful, not to say perfect in my eyes. She enchants me in everything she does, in everything she is. Even Camila's imperfections I am learning to like, if not love. I know it's crazy all this, but it's a craziness that has gotten out of my control.

said Jane, giving Marianne a knowing smile. Marianne wanted to deny that she is looking for him, but the smile on Jane’s face says that there is no need for any pretence when she is with her. She gave her a short smile. “All relationships are not perfect. You have to work hard for it to make it perfect. Though perfection can only be achieved when you have accepted each other's flaws,” stated Jane. “Embrace each other's imperfectness to be perfect,” Marianne smiled at Jane.