I've touched perfection

I've touched perfection, well the perfect version of me that I've never seen. It's nothing sexual. It was dark and I felt at the palm of my hand all the things I've wanted to be perfect about me. I ran my hands over my limbs, I didn't see the celulite starting to form or the bruise on my knee.

I felt the scars and for a second they were something sensual, maybe something a lover would know, a lover would remember for years to come. The scar wasn't ugly or surrounded by images that flood the mind at the sight of it. I couldn't remember when I touched each scar where they were from, who hurt me or what happend.

It was as if I was imperfectly perfect. I ran my hands over my stomach, I wasn't fat or thin, or skinny. I was me it wasn't made up in my mind how I looked but I felt real I felt human.

I ran my hands over my chest, size didn't matter the. The fact that my breast don't match in size didn't occur to me I felt only skin. And I felt I was me and because I couldn't see me neither could everyone else.

Only the moon light saw what was there, and what wasn't. What I wanted to see and what my mind was showing me.

I ran my hands over my face, there was a scar on my forehead and it wasn't ugly it was part of me. When I ran my hands through my hair there was no colour, there was no shape it was just hair my hair a part of me.

Eventually the water ran cold, and I reallized that I wasn't perfect. I reached over out of the shower and turned on the light. The light hurting my eyes, wasn't telling me I wasn't perfect with the scars, and the undefined hair colour it was showing me.

I made sure ther was no soap on me and I steppd out of the shower onto the cold tile floor. I looked into the mirror I saw the size of my thighs and the imperfect scars on my knees from when I was a child. I saw the round of my belly with it's fat. I saw the irreguralities in the size of my breast. I saw my way to short bangs, that happend because of boredom and a pair of scissors also the result of my friend saving what was left of them. I was peering so close into the mirror that when I looked at my eyes I realized what was missing my glasses.

I placed them on my nose, slipped on my slippers, the fur conforting me. I took the blue towel and wrapped on my head hiding away the hair i've grown tired of. I took a green towel and wrapped around myself.

I looked deep at the picture I was seeing, I remembered the things my mind made me see, and how touch made me be perfect.

I took a deep breath, a sigh escaped my lips.

Another though followed.

And I smilled and realize this is perfect. This is me. I'm here breathing living. And perfection, well I'm perfect the way I am. The bruises, the scars the imbalance. It makes me me. And well right now it's all I got.

I've touched perfection, but I've come back realizing I'm happy the way I am.