Sometimes I want to be the perfect woman. Well, you know. Fun, witty, charming, smart, strong, determined. Beautiful, shining and sunny. One of those you look at is to feel sincere white jealousy because you want to be like her. The one that radiates charm. The one that becomes like an inspiration to seek more, to be better, happier.
But those inspirations, flooded in a moment, just as quickly and evaporate. I do not need a desire to be the perfect woman: personality, friend, daughter, wife. Perfect for myself. Even being imperfect, every morning, looking in the mirror, I enjoy myself and I am proud of who I am.
I’m not perfect. Not at all. Sometimes people say I’m a sunny person, but for a moment, with such a heart-warming compliment, I realize it’s just the connections. I love the sun, the heat, the summer, but how much of that sun is in me? I don’t know, I doubt it. I know I would like to see ten times more. Because I am not like those perfect women who even shine without effort. And if I were a color, I’d probably be more black than bright yellow. Because I’m not really a perfect woman.
Sometimes I get angry. On the whole world. But just a minute.
Sometimes I scream even though there is no good reason for it. Or I close myself in silence and make mad all around me.
Sometimes I don’t listen to what people say to me.
Sometimes I don’t want to get out of bed all day. Unfortunately, I always have to get off, and suddenly everyone becomes guilty.
Sometimes, feeling lost in reality, dreams and night dreams, I suddenly feel so tired, lonely, and unhappy.
And finally, after becoming proud of myself for a healthy lifestyle, I overeat three times a day and empty a bottle of wine.
Sometimes I want nothing; just hide in my shell, open the biggest box of ice cream and eat to the last teaspoon. Because today I failed again to be perfect.
And tomorrow is a new day. Maybe along with the warm sun, it will magically dissolve all my imperfections, or they will be washed out with heavy rain. Or maybe, in the light of a new day, I again realize that you don’t always have to be the perfect person to live a happy and perfect life.
After all, this is probably the case.
We all are imperfect, agree?