Perfectly Imperfect Artinya Novels & Stories

“It’s too perfect, you know? It doesn’t seem real. Real castles have tons of flaws. There’s chips in the walls, places that have been torn down and rebuilt. Water damage. Weather damage. Nothing in reality looks that perfect.” Elva looked at the castle now with narrow eyes, as if observing it more critically. “There’s more beauty in imperfect things,” Julian said. “They show growth. Age. Challenge and acceptance. Perfect is boring. Imperfection…” He put his finger under Elva’s chin and lifted her face up to face the sunlight. “Imperfection is life.” Elva smiled. Then she glanced at her sand mound. “I want to try again. For real this time.” “Okay,” Julian said. He glanced over at me. He’d kno

Her voice was light and playful because it had to be. Ethan laughed, leaving a kiss on her temple. "Of course, love. You just need more sleep." But sleep wasn't the problem. Reality was. The house, the life, the husband-it was all too perfect. And perfection, she was starting to realize, was its kind of prison. --- The scent of freshly ground coffee and toasted bread filled the kitchen, blending with the crisp morning air. Ethan sat at the breakfast table, reading the newspaper as he always did, a portrait of effortless domesticity. A plate of eggs and fruit waited for Lena, prepared exactly as she liked.

"Because most people think passion is colored in crimson and pinks. Only a true artist knows that the very absence of color is the deepest desire of the painter." I reached out and touched the side of her face, wanting to take her down the hall and let her find what she needed in me. "Because it's the beginning for us? It’s the blank canvas?" I took a step closer as the sugary goodness of the brownies reached my senses. "That's exactly right. Anything that happens going forward is ours to build upon. To change and make perfect." "And what if perfection is a myth?" I slid my fingers into her hair as my heart raced to break free from my chest.

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

#songs #AdamLambert. - Better than I know myself #TheScript #Army of angels Clara I'm not perfect .I've always said that; perfection isn't perfection unless there are imperfections visible... So we are all imperfectly perfect . There are some moments in life when you feel undeserving of what you have or like a total loser.I've had many of those days and weeks ,when I sometimes feel like I'm not being a good enough mother to my son , or perfect wife to my husband . When you wake up in the morning and wish you could fall back to sleep cause you hate feeling like you are failing at a role you should perfectly fit into cause you've had enough practice, however you still feel like you are always

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.

Dad said while laughing. I laugh too, “So all that you said is just drama to scare her?” “Of Course Baby. How can I live without you mom she’s my life and everything too like Shane to your heart. I just want her to realize that she’s not perfect at all.” “You are my idol Dad! I love you and thank you.” I hugged my dad tightly and he returned the favor and caressed my hair like a child.

Before perfection is created, it is imagined. Defined. Designed. --- Controlled. --- Elena Voss had spent her life rejecting that idea. --- Because perfection— --- Was never real. --- Only imposed. --- Only forced into existence by those too afraid of imperfection. --- But now— --- Something was changing. --- Something that didn’t follow her rules. --- Or anyone’s. --- The threads pulsed again. --- Stronger than before. --- Not chaotic. --- Not unstable.

She stated with a smile in her voice. Maria nodded. “I know nothing of art and it makes me terrible for judging the artists’ work.” “Critics are allowed, and I’m sure you’re not the first person to tell the artist that.” She turned to the painting back and ran her manicured finger over the lines. “As an art lover, what I do is to look beyond the mess. Let’s be realistic. The world is not a perfect place. So why should every artist piece be perfect? The pressure on a creative to produce better works can be pretty daunting. To sum up; what if the messy artwork was a messy artwork?”

He'd stopped mentioning it. Some things were allowed to be imperfect. Some things were allowed to be his. This was a lesson that had taken him longer than he wanted to admit. He was a perfectionist—not in the casual way that people used the word, but in the actual way, the way that meant the gap between what he could imagine and what he could execute was a source of constant low-grade frustration. He had spent years trying to close that gap, trying to make the thing he made match the thing he imagined, trying to eliminate the distance between vision and reality.