The moment when the perfect become imperfect, and the imperfect, perfect

You sort it all out in your head. You see the bistro. How it should look. What to do. How to behave. You have this vision of a romantic, but bad-boy, gentleman, and yet a guy. You imagine the color of your hair, your eyes. You imagine gestures. You imagine what it is and what it should be.

Maybe you’ll meet him.

Black hair. 190 and change. Witty. Charming. Eloquent. Gentlemen. He achieved what he should have achieved at his age. You understand. Your interests are similar. A similar vision of the future. You like it. Yours likes it. Friends like it.

You’re great. He’s great.

It’s great, while everything is great.

The wave…

Maybe you get a message from a friend. Maybe after work, he calls a colleague. You may meet, on the street, an ex.

And nothing is great anymore.

Why are you?

Why did not you?

Who is?

When is?

A million questions. A million, yours, wrong answers.


Maybe they tell you you have a growth. He did not see clearly. Tumor. Maybe benign. But it can also be malignant. Maybe they tell you you’ll never have children.

Shut up.

Move away.

He is “too young”. You are dear to him, but… He can’t handle anything like that. He doesn’t care how you deal with everything.

And nothing is great anymore!


Maybe you get fired. You can’t find a job. Maybe you send 300 CVs a month. But it doesn’t work. It’s too much for him. What the “village” will say. He is “successful”, you are unemployed.

Mr. Perfect may not be so perfect!

Not everything is as it seems at first.

It’s not!

Because you can meet someone you never imagined. Maybe she has the “wrong” hair or eye color. Maybe he has a “past” behind him, because of which the “village” will put his hand over his mouth in shock, to cover up the wonder. Maybe it’s starting from scratch.

Maybe it’s not what you imagined. What your parents imagined, what your friends would accept at first. Maybe that’s why others will give you advice. “Show” the bigger picture. Maybe it will suit you. Maybe he’ll tell you you’re complicating life. That you can be “better” or at least “easier”. Maybe you will waver because of them. Maybe you’ll question yourself.

Maybe, but only maybe you’ll feel in your chest that they’re wrong. That he is imperfect but real. That it is not from the prospectus, but it is real. Just like you are real, with your imperfections. Maybe he will accept you so perfectly in your imperfection, unconditionally. Maybe they won’t want to let you go. They may not “upload” each of your photos online, but they will “have” them on your cell phone screen.

He may not brag about romantic gestures in public, but he will hold your hand in the doctor’s waiting room. You may have different education, a different career, but it will be wind in your back. He may be messy, but he won’t let you go to bed if he sees you’re not well. You may have a completely different past, but also a common present because of it. It may not be all on your list, but it may be more than that.

And then who cares about unwritten rules. Yours and someone else’s. For oral lectures. For stories. For lists. Immature daydreams. For “should”. For the “right”. For the “guilty”.

Not everything is as it seems at first. The second and third dig under the surface.

Only then do the masks fall off.

Only then do the perfect become imperfect, and the imperfect, for you, perfect.

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