My perfect woman isn't perfect at all. Shes perfection in an imperfect soul, a diamond; although flawed in a way, she's still always beautiful.She's a woman of substance, not just a mere shell of one, someone who has the ability to light the fire of my entirety not just spark an ember of passion that is sure to die out.Someone who however damaged their heart has been can still grow to trust & not judge the sum of the male population.Someone who's pains & disappointments are the cause of their endless pursuit for peace & understanding not the reason why the door to their heart is preceeded by a labrynth with nearly impenetrable walls of insecurities, doubts, & fears.You see my perfect woman isn't perfect at all, its just that her desire for love outweighs her beckoning need for protection from hurt. Love isn't some fairytale in some far away land of melodious fate, love is a choice, however, most of us choose to stay in our faux reality & protect ourselves from hurt, missing out on the very thing our hearts desire most..
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