Perfection With A Pumping Heart
Logically…
Sensibly…
Rationally…
I know that “perfect” doesn’t exist.
But when he bites my cheek, and follows it with the softest of kisses. Or tries to roll me off the bed as the roar of laughter that leaves our mouths forces a simultaneous gasp for breath— I understand acutely that rationality has never been in love.
As he sits in front of me now, his furrowed brow angled down as his eyes scan the menu, there isn’t a thing about him that I struggle to adore.
I know that perfection doesn’t exist.
Logically…
Sensibly…
Rationally…
But here in this light — right now — as he strokes his thumb over the softest parts of my hand, he feels, to me, alot like perfection with a pumping heart.