I don’t want to be someone’s idea of perfect. What if one day they woke up and realized I wasn’t as perfect as they thought I was? I rather be someone’s idea of imperfect. That way I know they have accepted me and all my flaws.
To believe that you must hide all the parts of you that are broken, out of fear that someone else is incapable of loving what is less than perfect, is to believe that sunlight is incapable of entering a broken window and illuminating a dark room.