Imperfection

It was not a dream... yet she wishes it had been.

Imperfection they call her- her abhorrent looks that illustrate her outside shell kill what struggles to emerge from within her true self. Her heart is caring, unable to resent hate upon another living being.

     Unlike the one they call perfection, she wears a foul dress that incites the hate around her.

     They judge her by this dress that she wears with shame.

    

     Women of all ages are repulsed by what she is, and fear of ever encountering a fate where their physical appearance would be altered in this way.

     For this woman, most days are carved out of incertitude and hostility- some days more than others.

     By luck she had one day met the man of her life near the shores of the beach she always hung out by; he had been destroyed by the inside as well, and together they had learned to heal their wounds, complete each other, and love themselves as who they were. They had also learned to love each other.

     Yes, Stanley had been a loving, caring boyfriend for the past year or so. He had made her life less miserable, and more worth the hurt that sometimes came around the corner. The needed each other. They completed each other, like a human emotional puzzle, lost in this crazy world.

     For this whole year of perfect happiness, she had never even tried picturing herself without Stanley- cold, lost, hurt, incomplete. Meaningless. Less than nothing. Damaged.

     And in one single instant, these unrealized visions had tumbled down on her so violently...

     At first, she had believed it must have been only a bad dream; she had felt so confused, and the situation had seemed just simply... unreal. The aura that this perfect woman weaved around her as she walked was a flawless, mystical one. But when she had awakened the next morning, no longer feeling the muscular lump that usually filled the other half of her double bed, she had realized that the scene at the beach had been painfully real.

     But how could it ever be real?

     How could there ever exist perfection like she had seen in that woman's eyes?

     And what mystical force could have pulled Stanley to her in that way?

     There couldn't possibly exist such an evil perfection in the world- not when there existed imperfect women like herself. Her short brown hair was decorated by unusual curls that gave her the appearance of a woman who never washed nor brushed it; they wore absolutely no shine, no life, no vibrant colours. As of her eyes, they were a dull grey colour that reflected only the misery that lived in her mind. Her shapes were not vibrant and stunning like other women's; she envied the ones whom men tended to look at on the shores of the beach.

     She was the kind that men wanted away from the beach.

     And now, the year she had lived with Stanley seemed so far away... as if it had never happened at all. Maybe that was all it had ever been- a dream. A dream meant to substitute her loneliness that she was doomed to bathe in for the rest of her gloomily imperfect existence.

Author's Note

Sorry it took so long; I had lost the notebook in which I had written it!

Reviews

[nostal]

I love the way that you make me feel for the lady who lost Stanley. Once again, another awesome write. Have to wait patiently for the third chapter.
:)