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He was perfect.
Not in the sense of having a sculpted body, a flawless golden hair, or a pair or soulful piercing eyes.
Not in the sense of always saying the right thing at the right time
Not in the sense of doing the right thing at the right time.
But he was perfect..

He was perfect because his clumsy words made me swoon, they made my heart beat faster, and inhibited my mind for days, settling there for longer than they should.
because somehow, I never felt the need to explain myself to him, to teach him who I was and how to deal with me.
He was perfect because despite of his calmness and maturity he made a fool out of himself sometimes just to make me laugh.
because talking to him was like a an inside monologue, except million times better.
I exposed my thoughts and not for once, I feared judgement or being misunderstood.

and I liked staring at him,
because I saw him for what he was, flawed, vulnerable and completely human.
and that made him perfect.
the way his shy smile crept up his lips, the way his loud laugh filled the place, and how just looking at him made me feel, after years of trying to suppress my heart.
Our lips never touched but our souls did.
I spilled my soul out , without restrains, without fear of staining his, and the freedom I felt in his company is something I can never forget.
My heart was broken, and I loved him with every broken piece.
I'm uncertain, because he unintentionally caused a thunder storm in my core.
and now when I look back at it, I'm not really sure if it was him,
maybe it was me.
maybe it was my desperation to feel again.


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