Sorry I Can't Be Perfect の小説・ストーリー

"I never claimed to be perfect. Never said I was pure. Never declared myself absolute good. Others may believe that. Others may worship that. Others may claim that. But I know the truth. I am flawed. I am imperfect. I am capable of harm. Even while trying to love. Even while trying to help. Even while trying to save. I can be both. Can be love that sometimes harms. Can be good that sometimes does wrong. Can be hope that sometimes violates. Because I am complex. Because I am real. Because I am a being who exists, who chooses, who acts. And actions have consequences. Choices have results. Existence includes mistakes. I am not perfect. I am simply trying. Trying to love. Trying to help. Trying

no matter what! Nobody is perfect and that’s where I always lose myself whenever I try to give us a chance but this time, I will try harder.

Always watching, never getting to be a part of their sorrows or their joy. I look back toward him as he processes everything I told him about how I spent my years away. “I’m so sorry how badly I failed. If I had been better, you wouldn’t have waited so long.” I rolled toward him and gripped his face in my hands and forced him to look at me. “No one is perfect.”

I ask. "Well, everyone loves me." "Well... How lucky!" I give her a smile. "It's not luck. I'm too good to be hated." "Some people can feel threatened but there is too much perfection." "Like you?" She raises her eyebrows at me. I shake my head at her naive thinking. "No Laura, but know that it's not possible for anybody to be perfect." "Well, this anybody isn't lucky then!" "I guess you can see it like that." I shrug.

Do I lack something? “No baby, you’re perfect the way you are. You’re perfect. You’re perfect and you don’t need to change anything about you.” I heard the person say and looked up to see who it was. The person who couldn’t see how imperfect I am. Who couldn’t see how torn I am. I had to be broken somewhere and that’s why I can’t hold a relationship.

#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

I'm saying sorry for being blinded, blinded by the perfect thought of you and me, when really we don't have a chance. I'm the stupid one. I let you down, and I feel it deep within me. We both made some errors and said something wrong, but that's how life is. Nobody's perfect, not even me and you, so I'm sorry for that took and I'm sorry for everything but ... Please forgive me. We can change things back to normal. I'm sorry if this is not what you want, But it's the only thing I can think of..." He was about to hit send when his proud ass sent in.

Pressing my palms against David's chest, I pushed him back gently. "Wait, please stop. I can't do this." I confessed sincerely. David froze, confusion etched on his face. "What is it? Are you hurt? Did I do something wrong?" “No, no.” I whispered, eyes already watering. “It's not you, you're perfect. The problem is me. I'm sorry, David but I just can't do this with you. I would regret it later and that wouldn't be fair to you. I'm so sorry.”

That question hit deeper than it should’ve. I didn’t answer right away. Instead, I looked at her for a long time, trying to figure out if this was Sera, the project I once saw her as, or Sera who now … slept in my room, wore my shirt, and that necklace I gave her. “All the time,” I finally said. “Then why not try to relax just a little?” “Because I can’t. I grew up believing perfect was the bare minimum.” She shifted and faced me. Her hand reached out, tracing my jawline, then my upper arm. “It’s okay not to be perfect all the time.”

Sorry would never be enough. Not for this. Not even close.