Perfect days are rare.

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic

It feels damn good to say, perfect days are less rare now. Or maybe, you've just changed the definition of perfect for me.

Submitted: July 01, 2018

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Submitted: July 01, 2018



Perfect days are rare. Still. Even after all this time. But when I catch a glimpse of one, I smile, because it reminds me that life is still worth living, still worth struggling, perservering for, when there is still a chance of a perfect day. A day where I'm soaked in your smell, sinking in the depths of your scent, as your jacket hangs loosely off my shoulder, so I can inhale every part of you deeply, and commit it to my memory. It's a reminder that you're here. But when it's gone, when your aroma wears thin, and I'm left shivering, jacketless, it feels like an admonition, that I will never escape being alone. Isn't that silly? Expecting constant company, but barely being able to handle myself? Even perfect days seem to cast a growing shadow, a sign that nothing is perfect. So we'll go with good days. We've still got those. Good days are laughing endlessly over nothing, talking deeply over everything, exploring parts we've only ever thought of, falling asleep to each other's voices, kissing as if it's the last chance we've got, spilling unheard secrets to the darkness of the night, and wishing for this feeling, to go away, never come back, but stay where it is, and never leave us. Perfect days may be rare, may be not so perfect afterall, but thank god we've still got the good days. The good days where I can welcome you, blink back these tears, ask my heart to stop feeling so heavy, and just embrace you, smell you, breathe every single part of you in. Until we're met with a perfect day. Because perfect days were made for smiling on the outside, and aching on the inside. Perfect days exist for letting your tears become free, overspilling and stinging your cheeks, closing up your chest as you rock yourself back and forth, with happiness or pain, it makes no difference. Perfect days will still make you cry. Still make you feel everything. Maybe it's a blessing perfect days are rare. Or maybe, it's a curse.

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