Flawed Perfection Novels & Stories

The First Crack in Perfection POV: Aidan Perfection does not last. It cannot. That is the first rule of any system that exists within reality. Even the most stable structures drift over time. Even constants, when observed closely enough, reveal variation. So when something remains perfectly unchanged— It isn’t stable. It’s constrained. And constraints— Eventually break. I don’t say that out loud. Not yet. Because right now, the system is still holding. Still locked in that single, unchanging state we forced it into when we completed the echo.

“Because God is doing it for me. He’s in Malawi, a shell of himself. That’s enough.” “You have made everyone believe you are this perfect man who always kept his hands clean, who’s forgiving. But I see it now. You don’t have clean hands. You just hide the dirt better than anyone else.” “Ok Judith, what now?” Judith paused. “How do you sleep without yourself?” “Like a baby. We are not going to have problems, right?“ “You need help.” He hung up and returned to the altar. Seemah walked down in a bridesmaid dress. Their eyes met and she blushed standing onto the other side.

Does she have the time to feel true love and have him as her King? When your life is already planned ahead of you, do you really have a choice to change it? When you’re born with a tiara on your head, do you really think you have the chance to correct and perfect your imperfections? Probably not.

She burst out laughing. I blush for the first time today. She shrugs. "It's okay. Hmm..." she presses her lips again, then raises her eyebrows. "Maybe like you!" I straightened up. I didn't expect Tara would consider me, but I stayed quiet for I feel there was something more. "Any woman would like you. In physique, you're a perfect guy, Blake." she sneers. I groan, "Why do I feel there's a 'but' after your sentence,"

Aᴜᴛʜᴏʀ's Nᴏᴛᴇ For everything in this journey of life we are on, there is a right wing and a left wing: for the wing of love there is anger; for the wing of destiny there is fear; for the wing of pain there is healing; for the wing of hurt there is forgiveness; for the wing of pride there is humility; for the wing of giving there is taking; for the wing of tears there is joy; for the wing of rejection there is acceptance; for the wing of judgment there is grace; for the wing of honor there is shame; for the wing of letting go there is the wing of keeping. We can only fly with two wings and two wings can only stay in the air if there is a balance. Two beautiful wings is perfection. There is a

Badrun. "Yeah, it's okay. Don't do it again next time, OK..." said Mrs. Badrun. "Do you hear? If you don't hear, I'll pinch your ears here so you can hear better!" Cecep snapped angrily. "Y-yes Brother, please forgive me." The student holds both his ears with his hands. "That's enough... that's enough, he already apologized to me," asked Mrs. Badrun. "You can't do that, ma'am, maybe he has apologized, he could do it again tomorrow. The seeds of corruption must be completely eradicated," interrupted Tukijo. Then he approached the child. "Tell me your name and class!"

I asked, painfully pushing myself off the floor. "What just happened?" "I told you I didn't have any control," I grumbled. I was thoroughly annoyed with myself—and my wolf, for pointing out the flaws I'd been trying to ignore. "That's not what I'm talking about." My lips twisted into a frown as I tried to stand. My legs were shaking like a baby deer's and every single muscle and joint in my body ached horribly. "Then what do you mean? You're gonna have to talk to me like I'm stupid here, I know basically nothing about wolves or shifting," I groaned, struggling to my feet.

But then you come into my view with that charming smile of yours and those kind eyes, making me forget all these thoughts. Every day you tell me how perfect I am and then you go ahead and point out all your imperfections. Do you think I don’t know you, Jonathan? I know you inside and out baby, I know your flaws but I also know that you won’t be what you are now without them. Love is not about seeing someone as perfect; it is about accepting them with all their flaws and rough edges. You tell me that you have never been in a relationship, you have never committed yourself to someone but neither have I. You say that you don’t want to hurt me but what if I hurt you? I am not perfect Jonathan. I

I grabbed onto my bed sheets and shut my eyes. "You're wet for me baby," he teased softly and in a voice that made me even wetter than I already was. I shivered as I released my hold on the sheets and moved my hands underneath his shirt, removing it and taking in his perfect fit. Why everything about this man has to be so damn perfect?

And in that quiet, fragile night—wrapped in honesty instead of pretense—I allowed myself to believe that maybe love wasn’t about being flawless. Maybe it was about choosing each other again after the flaws were exposed. The sky outside began to lighten, faint and hesitant. I tightened my hold on her just slightly. We weren’t healed. We weren’t unbreakable. But for the first time in weeks—maybe months—I believed we were honest. And maybe, just maybe, that was stronger than perfection.