Perfection Synonym Novels & Stories

That must be normal for half of the percent of mothers because for the rest, they claim that the other part is insane for classifying themselves as perfect mothers. I confess to the girls that it's my first time, that I'm not used to going to these places. I even thought the day I entered one that it was hell itself because peace or the sound of cars cannot be bought with music that makes your skin crawl, that sends an electric shock through your body until it reaches your heart, making it beat uncontrollably. It's a unique feeling. The two of them laugh and tell me it's normal, that we always have a first time, but everything has its pros and cons.

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?

It’s Aaron again. "Saudade." "Saudade?" We all asked together. Is that even a word? Surprisingly, I haven't heard of it. "It means both happy and sad at the same time," David gave the answer. Sara put down what she’s eating and looked at David to confirm what he just said. "There's a word for that?" I pouted my lips and think about it. I turned to Hana and gave her a confusing look. "Is that possible? To be happy and sad at the same time? One of the two should weigh more, right?"

Diana stepped out of the shower wrapped in a towel, but when she saw her reflection in the mirror, she dropped it. She couldn't believe it, it was amazing to know that she still had a perfect body. Her breasts were firm, but now larger than before, her waist still looked narrow, her legs were now more shapely than before, and her butt, which had always been her greatest attribute after her face, was arguably now enviable. «At least all is not lost,» She said to herself with a shrug.

My head dips and I whisper against her temple, “You possess the drive and the talent to reach whatever goal you or I set. What you can’t do is allow yourself to get mired in a perceived shortcoming.” “But I want to be perfect,” she softly says. I groan. “That’s a label I’ve used too many times with you. What I mean by it, is that you have the ability to be flawless and graceful in the things you say and do. The way you present yourself. That’s imperative to this position. Also… You’re savvy. Those are extraordinary attributes. Think in those terms, rather than having to be a perfectionist. Because here’s a little secret, Nik. No one is perfect. Not in that all-encompassing sense.”

She stepped out and looked around, squinting as she took in her environment before putting on her shades. "You are perfect, Scar," I said. She turned to look at me, her perfectly carved brow up in askance. "You think? Perfection doesn't exist, Finn. It's just a social construct and sadly, we have all fallen into the trap. We do a lot of things just to stay perfect when we could just be ourselves. Imperfect," She was a smart woman. Heartfelt. That was perfect enough for me. She wasn't empty. She had a soul. A beautiful soul and that was perfect to me.

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

The one that would make everything easy and certain. Then I remembered. I remembered my mother saying: Perfection is not what people trust. Truth is. I remembered my father saying: Strength is not standing apart. It is standing together. I remembered every time we had been broken, and every time we had healed. I remembered that being perfect meant nothing — being real was everything.

I asked him completely serious. “Not drunk man, I just don’t mince words. Me and Flora are better than you two, you want to know why, at least we don’t hid under supposed best friend and we are clear about our attraction to each other. Not like the great Kola and Charming Tomi, people that won best couple although they were not a couple.” “Ezekiel, I sure say your head nor dey house… what the hell are you yapping about?”

Just for good measure, we made a pinky promise and everyone knew you couldn’t break those. We made it into the the twins square and the England air had chilled a little but it wasn’t too bad. We had walked into about a dozen art stores and we had accumulated one plastic bag with one item. I swear, Damien was picker than the average female. But then again, most artists were perfectionists when it came to their work. I was guilty of it too. Then again, at some point, I realised that there was no point in trying to chase perfection because it was merely a construct. Perfection was unattainable and could not be reached—ever. And that was okay.