Perfectly Imperfect Artinya Novels & Stories

I don't even like this guy. I groan inwardly. "You don't scare me." I said firm. He cocks his head to the side. "You're intimidating, that's all. You're superior to everyone and... I get... I get this feeling that I need to be this perfect person in front of you. Like I need not to do any mistakes so I don't disappoint you. I need to be careful with my words because if I say the wrong things, it might get you mad at me. You know, things like that." I spurted out shyly, good thing words came out right this time.

Even her body and all over. "You know what I'll say if your Father was here and he called this work imperfect?" He asked, gaze fixed on the board. "What?" "If all we ever look for are the flaws of man, we never would have found the word "beauty". He is forgetting one thing. The imperfection of humans is what makes humans. I know this artwork is nothing close to reality but to the ones who can relate it to their lives," he paused. "to their dreams, they know that it is the perfect handwork in existence."

I just let her because I can not even finish it. “Yes, that is the person”. Mariquita confirms her statement. “He looks very attractive”. Andrea says. “With a nice body”. I add. “And luscious lips”. Mariquita completes and we all giggle like a bunch of middle school girls fantasising over a hot male actor.

Asshole better. Mr. Asshole mutters some incoherent words before carrying on with his lesson. After like, literally one second, Mr. Asshole sprints out of the classroom mysteriously without saying a single word. The whole class seems to be caught in some sort of trance, just everyone gaping at each other. And then all hell breaks loose. I have no idea what just happened because that was really confusing.

My heart skipped several beats. He got up from his chair and walked over to me, right in front of me. His cologne was filling my nostrils, his hard chest was sending out a magnetic force over my body, pulling me in. My feet wobbled as I had to stop myself from jumping onto him and having my way with this incredible looking man. He was so damn perfect. God really is an artist to sculpt this beautiful human being before my eyes. "You've got something stuck in your hair," he softly muttered in my ear.

she replied, “I can’t believe we are breaking history, a maid is marrying her boss.” “I don’t think anybody would believe that for you look nothing like a maid.” “But I was a maid.” “Was, but not anymore, you are my imperfect perfection,” he replied that she could only smile and wondered how can they be a perfection that is imperfect? Not getting her answer, she smiled more pronounced and listened to the priest, today is a very big day to her, a day she had looked forward to all her life with the man beside her. And she knew that just as his words ‘imperfect perfection’ confused her, so would their love confuse anyone who tries to ruin them.

Not dismissive either. I swallowed hard. “Yes…” I found my voice. “Art isn't about perfection.” He chuckled, putting his hands in his pocket before looking at me again. “I know that, Mrs Bryce,” he smirked. “Perfection is overrated,” he said quietly. His gaze didn’t leave mine. “This…” he added, glancing briefly at the painting, “...is far more interesting.” Those eyes. The air got dense. Beads of sweat clustered on my forehead. I cleared my throat and smoothed my dress.

His whiskey-graveled voice shook her. “You’re trying to scare me, push me away because you’re feeling vulnerable, but it won’t work. If you wanted my fear, you shouldn’t have risked your life to save me.” She settled her gaze on him. She’d hold those intense eyes of his, no matter how that caused goose bumps to prickle over her skin. “Art isn’t about pursuing perfection. It’s about embracing flaws. The scars should make you terrifying, but to me they don’t. They only make you intriguing. It’s beauty with depth.”

My words made Chloe’s face darken. She gritted her teeth. “I get it now. You’re one of those cheap sluts, aren’t you? Making a scene just to seduce my man?” She pulled her phone out of her Hermès bag and expertly opened Instagram. “Everyone, look what I’m dealing with at my store today.” She aimed the camera at us, her voice sickeningly sweet. “A desperate gold-digger and her trashy-looking mom, trying to get freebies at my spa.”

The sound of my ringtone was starting to fucking piss me off. I grabbed my phone from the nightstand just as it stopped ringing. A message notification popped up and I hesitated opening it, but then I did, my expression blank as I read through the message. Dad: Where the hell are you? You’re a fucking disappointment. Do you ever get anything right? Every single time I give you responsibility, you screw it up. You’re still as incompetent as ever. Just useless. A complete failure. I wasn't fazed by his insults. It didn’t even sting anymore. Failure, Incompetent, Useless, Pathetic, Disappointment, name it. There's nothing I've not heard him say.