Novel & Cerita Imperfections Book

Michael was surprised as well, “she said it to you too?” “Yes,” she chuckled. “Well, that means I won’t have to explain it then.” “Yeah, you don’t have to.” Michael gave a curt nod, “good,” he rubbed the back of her hand with his thumb, “anyway, the thing is, I have already been considering it and after listening to that rose example, I figured we can never be perfect, but we can learn to live with each other’s imperfection, thereby making ourselves perfect. But when I look at you Sasha, your imperfection is what makes you unique, is what makes you perfect. And I know that I will die if I don’t get to be with that imperfection. No one has to change for anybody, we just have to learn to be wi

Okoli took a pebble to describe what he meant, he threw the small stone upwards and after a brief moment, it came back, colliding with the ground. Ifeme nodded. "I think I quite understand what you are trying to say. You are explaining the limits that life has put in place to wear us down." "Exactly!" Okoli said with widened eyes. "I am also encouraging you to keep on striving to be the best man that you can be when you eventually grow up and the only way you can achieve that is by overcoming specific imperfections that you have kept inside you for a long period of time. I know those imperfections can be conquered. I know they may not be completely destroyed but I also believe they can be su

Regret: “I’m too old to get started. It’s too late.” Identity: “I’m just a lazy person.” Shame: “I shouldn’t be so lazy.” Do any of these voices sound familiar to you?", asked Aidah by winking. "No, l don't....l want to know what you mean by imperfections into perfect?", asked the Heaven of now with the same curiosity as before. "Stay patient dear...You have a lot of time in life to know about it... l am going...l want to loosen it", said Aidah and prepared to go.

Chapter 130 The city pulsed with perfect rhythm. Every reflection bent as intended, every shadow obeyed, every sound cue followed the patterns we dictated. The ghost—once untouchable, once the master of hesitation—now bent alongside us, its centuries of work feeding into the pulse we had shaped. Yet perfection is never permanent. It came first as a ripple, faint enough to feel like a flaw in perception. A shadow stretched too far across a conduit, a reflection that bent a fraction slower than expected, an echo that lingered one beat longer than it should have.

Permission to be imperfect. Permission to struggle. Permission to not have it all figured out.

She pressed her cracked lips together. Disgusting. You're disgusting. She thought to herself. Rowena felt like crying. She wanted to cry. But the tears didn't come. A part of her thought she had no right to cry. There was only an insurmountable amount of self-loathing. Heat coursed through her face and body yet again. She turned off the faucet and moved towards the small shower area. Without undressing, she opened the shower head and stood underneath it. The cool water tapping against her body gave a sense of comfort. Not long after, her black shirt began to hug her body. The sensation wasn't strong enough. Rowena wrapped her weak arms around her torso. She wanted nothing to be embraced, to

"You are not becoming like me, you are better than me." Palming his cheeks before he can bury his face between my swells, I say, "Not really. I think we are both flawed. Imperfect but perfect in our imperfections." Thrusting my hips, I splay my fingers on his chest, slide my arms around his neck. "Stop punishing me."

Tomorrow morning she would wash her face and put on some moisturizer and that would be that. Bedtime reading. No novels tonight. Tonight it would be her latest brokerage statement and how she could make things right for Hazel, for the Society group and possibly herself. She trembled with guilt and humiliation when she recalled her daughter's tone and the expression on her face. That had to be right up there with the moment when she'd confronted her husband about his infidelities and his so what attitude.

There was no reason for me to be angry since the conversation went well, a little too well but still I’m angry. Anybody who knows me knows am a perfectionist, there shouldn’t be any flaws in my plans or projects. Because if there’s even a slight error I go berserk. It’s like a thing I was born with I’m not a perfectionist because I love precision. I’m a perfectionist because I don’t survive mistakes, Perfectionism isn’t ambition It’s defense and I don’t leave room for error. People like me don’t get margins! I notice disorder before I notice anything else. It’s like seeing a chair pulled out too far with the need to correct it or a stack of papers misaligned on the table, or maybe Someone’s

"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.