perfection mine cannot be reached perfection mine cannot be had perfection the meaning of the word so lost on a simple child like me. I was thinking today, about the perfect person. I would like the perfect person wrapped around me, (ok, I was thinking about the perfect person to be in love with.) with perfect muscled arms. (Don't care about nothing else, just the arms.) He would never abdone me. He would smile at me when I made a stupid joke, patronize me when I wanted to be patronized. He would disagree with me on ever point about a serious argument, because he would know that I loved the attention of an argument. He would kiss my head when I was crying and let me soak his shirt with my tears, without bailing on an emotional scene. He would never blame anything on PMS, nor would he ever call me a bitch. He would kiss my scars, and hold me when I read him from my journals. He would love my nails, and not mind that I didn't work out as much as I should. He would smile at me for no reason. He would be love in it's most perfect form. He would be the cool cloth that soothes the cuts I entail unto myself. He would be my shade on my day with no contacts. He would be mine. And mine alone. Perfection. I care for no one but my dream man- everyone else is just an unknown pain I bestow upon myself.