Fuckin’ Perfect.

We’re never really alone in the world. I keep saying that we are just individuals who die alone and rott under three feet of dirt. I almost limited my own existence to this. How many of you haven’t done that?

The silence is convincing enough to say that none of you. We’ve all been there. We’ve all been in that particular point in our lives where nothing made sense, where nothing made us feel better about ourselves as we gazed into the mirror. We’ve all felt alone. Yet I am one of the fortunate ones.

You see, one day, not long ago, I got this link on my facebook page. Decades ago, she would’ve sung it herself right under my window with a bunch of flowers in one hand and an extralarge bottle of champagne in the other. We would celebrate this moment as one of the best moments in our lives. The moment in which I realized that I really am fucking perfect. Not to the world, not even to myself, but to someone who still loves and cares for me.

I’ve known her for almost ten years. It’ll be ten years in autumn. Ten years since I’ve shared my moments of grace and my moments of utter pain with her. We’ve been around for quite some time, you know. We’ve tasted the most delicious coffee and we’ve written poems about how missunderstood we were back when we were sixteen. We’ve painted our rage on a canvas and we played darts till three in the morning, laughing at men and at how they managed to put us down. We’ve sung our favorite songs from the eighties and we’ve cried on each other’s shoulder, wondering how we’ve managed to let people walk all over us. While she was happy in love with a stomach bloated with butterflies, I was struggling to pay my rent and eat something. She was never too busy with her butterflies, she passed some on to me and helped me rise again. I can’t even remember how many times she’s done that. While she was broken into pieces and I was still in shambles, I got down on my knees and gathered whatever I could find of her and I glued her back together. When I was happy, she was happy with me. When I felt alone, she knocked on my door and refused to let me sulk. When I left, she missed me. We’ve had moments of silence but she never really left the inside of me. She was always there, tapping her foot to whatever music I played and smacking me over the head whenever I went overboard.

We are invincible together, we really are. I’ll never let her break again and she’ll never let me drown again. She’ll always pull me back up and remind me why I am so fucking perfect. To her, anyway.

Years will pass, men will storm into our lives and turn us upside down, babies will be born and kids will paint our kitchen walls. Mother-in-laws will lurk around our homes and hypocrites will always try to twist us around. But we’ll always be together, we’ll always stand by each other’s side and I will always rip apart whoever dares to hurt her. I will cut deep and I will watch them bleed to death. I will punish whoever breaks her again. She’s too beautiful to be broken, just as I am too beautiful to be drowned. And she’ll never let me drown again, she tied a rope around my waist and she is still holding on to it. I’m not going anywhere.

I’m beautiful, I’m smart, I’m talented and I have a million dreams that I keep trying to make real. So is she. It’s really just the two of us, in spite of whatever it is that life tries to throw at us once in a while. We’re fucking perfect to each other. She is my best friend, my sister, my mother, that little piece of my soul that was born somewhere else and has decided to return to me. And I’m the same to her.

Remember the little heart medallions that you split in two and give one piece to that special friend? One piece says “Be–Fri–” and the other says “–st–ends”. She’s my “–st–ends”.

She keeps reminding me about how perfect I really am.

And when she does that, everything else seems to just fade away, as she constantly fuels me to become who I want to be.

That’s why I’m so fuckin’ perfect to her.


Ze Calendar

February 2019
« Jun