Much to my mother’s horror while I grew up and almost consistently chose gangly looking boys, I have always found the most beauty in imperfections. A flashing row of teeth with that one squiggle tooth or a big old cheeky gap. The softness and vulnerability of a strong man’s balding head. Hand mushed jewelry that isn’t perfectly balanced. The cat with the tear in its ear. The dog with one remaining, pleading eye. The woman with her life map scrawled on her face that no-one wants to acknowledge, standing outside Amtrak shivering with her wobbly cigarette. A fierce man who breaks down and cries into my lap not caring who sees. Three nipples. It has always indicated genetic specialness to me. The boy who can’t hold down a relationship but can memorise a complex datamap across his wall in 5 minutes and never ever forget it. The girl with big hands and pretty long fingers. The soft pokable belly replacing a once six-pack. The boy who trembled almost every time he kissed me and was always searching around my body to hold my hand every second he had a spare one. A cute chubby face on a skinny body. Butt dimples. The un-get-overable lover who can’t control his enraged constantly spilling, messy emotions. The dog eared book. A bed that’s never perfectly made, but so messily and cozily comfortable. A once prized but now ancient iPhone thats been dropped in toilets, a jungle lake and skidded across 3 pavements while running down streets, but still faithfully lives on. The grouchy old man with the visible chip on his shoulder looking tough. The programmer who has his PJ pants stuffed under his suit, bulging over the top. All these sweet people and creatures I have been blessed to know and love.

I could keep writing but instead I’m going to continue thinking about my favourite imperfections. You are perfectly imperfect, and if I knew you, I’d probably remember and love your imperfections the most of all your qualities. I prize imperfections in others and in me. They make you uniquely you.