Her golden curls, like the tail of a reptile or perhaps an amphibian, curled oh so perfectly, in neat concentric circles. They framed her round porcelain face, cover the circumference evenly. As she walked in a straight line down the dimmed hallway, everyone saw those curls bounce softly, yet with great exuberance. Her eyes were a perfect shade of royal blue like the majestic peacock. Those small blue pebbles were lit with life that they seemed to beam airplanes through the mist. Her nose was like a perfect mountain summit, sticking out and alerting tourists of the snowy apex that everyone yearned to reach. Her lips were a rosy red like the first rose to bloom on the first day spring was born. Her presence was enthralling. Everyone around her could sense her warmth from miles away, for her warmth could burn an entire array of forests. She cradled the mug in both hands as if it were a delicate newborn baby and showed her forehead to the levitating steam that calmed her down. Pursing her rosy lips, she blew softly over the brown glossy film and let her eyelids drop. Her shoulders hovered slightly as she breathed in. She seemed perfect.
Walking beside her, the other girl walking with a strut. Each of her steps had a sort of rhythm as she put on foot in front of the other in a sequential pattern. Her oval face was immersed in an asymmetrical paint. Her eyelashes were so long that they seemed to reached towards the sun like a patch of farm grown sunflowers. Her eyes were a blueish green, almost like the chlorine filled swimming pool. Her hair hard eclectic curls with some shaped like delicate bubble while other seemed to curled half way before they flattened out tiringly. Her lips looked like fogged windows with severe cracks running through them, isolating each section. Between the cracks, lay a river of pink liquid flowing lifelessly through her almond shaped lips. She walked into the rooms and immediately, the room glowed with unfathomable luminescence. Her personality sends out sparks like a brush fire. As soon as she speaks, her voice melts the fragile air around her. She gripped the body of the pen with confidence and started writing. The ink flowed with ebb onto the blank, hungry page. From her mind, her words word through her vein and transformed into the dance her pen performed and finally, her thought were in black and white, on the page.
Both girls had their fair share of differences. They were both girls with alluring personalities. But neither was perfect. Perfection is not a goal but a simple opinion. For some, perfection is spending time with family and for others, perfection is spending some alone time cooped up in one’s own space. We are all mere mortal and thus perfection is a nonexistent piece of life that we all seem to yearn for. The truth is perfection is different in everyone’s eyes. Perfection is imperfect in its essence.
