Impərfəct Lovə
...is all there is.
That imperfect love you’ve been cursing, desperately clinging to, silently resenting, returning conditionally while hoarding it before spilling some out like cheap beer in a tavern, only later to chop it up for sale to the highest bidder, except that piece you’re saving for a special someone... Yes, that imperfect love, your imperfect love, along with mine, and hers, his, their imperfect love - gather it all up. Pour it all over yourself. Pour it all over everyone and all over everything you encounter. This Universe desperately wants all of our offerings of imperfect love.
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