She wasn’t perfect not in the way people measure perfection
but she was everything I had ever wanted.
Her presence felt like magic, something otherworldly yet familiar,
A gentle reminder of something longed for, a memory I never lived.
The air around her shimmered, almost ethereal,
As if she carried light in every breath, in every glance.
She was like life itself, raw and unapologetic,
A dream even Picasso’s hand would struggle to capture.
She wasn’t flawless, not by a mile,
But her imperfections only drew me closer,
Like soft edges on a stone smoothed by time,
Her scars told stories, her laughter held truths.
Her voice was music on quiet mornings,
Her silence, the peace I never knew I craved.
When she laughed, the world grew smaller,
And when she cried, it cracked open in tenderness.
I never needed her to be perfect;
Her spirit was fierce, untamed, and radiant,
And in her, I found a home I didn’t know I was missing.
All I ever wanted was there, in her flaws and beauty,
In her joy and her sorrow, in the way she loved without apology,
And in the way she made me feel whole,
Without ever asking for anything but my truest self.