RebeccaIsLeft

Perfect. A cursed seven letter word. Everyday I must strive for it. Why must I be so perfect, in a world that's full of flaws? I've never called myself perfect, you seemed to decide that yourself. Never can I be smooth and brave, the bumps and chips are part of me. Sanity. A thing I wish I still had. Pieces of my mind are gone. I keep searching for them, but I can't seem to find anything. There's holes in my world. Holes no one but I seems to see. These works of fiction tie me down, offering the comfort of other worlds. I can't be perfect not even for you. My mind can't be your anchor. Never have I claimed to be perfect,