And sometimes you just want it perfect

Sometimes you just want things perfect.

Then again, perfection is such an elusive word...

What is perfect for someone might be totally wrong for someone else. We just go on and on, eating up our life cereal, bits of happiness and heaven with extra crunchy morsels of hell. Sometimes our happiness depends on scraps of joy we seek out like junkies, by many possible means. Each person addicted to the joy of a suculent morsel of idealized time can find many a way, many a poison to achieve their desires. Few and far between the fleeting moments seem to go just as soon as they come, but nothing ever changes inside once the flavor has faded. Others are addicted to an idea of perfection that lives in a sand castle on a giant rock floating above the ocean. So far away, so seemingly unattainable, yet the struggle that seems to be endless is constantly being built on. But what of the time spent building? What more will there be to tell, to remember, to recall fondly of that time when you lived only for that far away dream?

I dream of perfection that is simply the knowledge of where I am and why I am there. The realization of a purpose in my life, a direction from which I won't ever stray. And the small samplings of perfection would come as something that seems too ideal to be casual, something that seems like heaven spun and treated, like a hand coming out of the ocean and taking your hand, leading you through an alternate route to that castle in the floating rock. That kind of perfection is dressed up with moments of such breathtaking beauty in attention to detail that one would appear to be just lost in the immensity of the wayward path, like a trusting child clasping its mother's hand, feeling safe, guided and guarded against all harm, looking at the world with brand new eyes.

My idea of perfection is silly. It is "too passionate", "too attached", "too impractical". And yet in all the years of going through the motions time and again, refusing to learn from everything I've done to myself and others, I have finally found the willingness to stand up to my past and stare it right in the eye. Needless to say the results have been frightening at times, overwhelming at times, a bit too much to handle sometimes... often physically painful. And sometimes I wish I could just let go as easily as I have done in the past. But this time it appears I cannot. The reason is simple... this is time to grow. Although I cannot be in the mind and heart of my beloved as I often wish I could, to be in there and witness his own inner turmoil... I know what I need to know. What I fear is his idea of perfection.

But if this is going to work, fear has to go straight to the crunchy dephts of hell.