posted on 22-Oct-2001 12:34:22 PM
Perfection...I own nothing, I don't really have anything to say...please just read it and tell me what you think...lee xx



I am a fuck up.

I know that...and I have accepted it. Between Max and Hank…how could I not?

I am not nearly perfect…I am imperfect.

It’s funny…the rest of my group of friends are so different from me…

They have the houses…

They have the families…

They have the money…

And they have the attitudes.

They are perfection in themselves.

With Max and his good looks, quiet, studious nature, good family; Isabel with the beauty and coldness and popularity; Kyle the Jock, who had everything…including the girl; Liz, the girl next door with the caring, gentle nature, and the face and body of the girl that starred in all boys fantasies…even Alex Whitman: Geek, was perfect once he started dating Isabel.

They were all confident in their perfection…

Except one…Maria DeLuca.

She is imperfect like me, and at first that was what attracted me to her.

She was similar…I could be my imperfect self and not feel self-conscious around her…I didn’t respect her…there was nothing to respect, but I saw myself in her and I didn’t have to try.

Max and Isabel felt obligated to be friends with me…and I wondered how Maria stayed tight with Liz and Alex when they didn’t need her. But its all part of the perfection…the order of things.

Maria isn’t self-confident…

Maria is insecure…

But with Liz and Alex, she can pretend to be perfect…and they allow her that.

Max and Isabel don’t allow me that pretence.

So I was with Maria, and Liz was with Max…

The imperfect with the imperfect, and the perfect with the perfect.

And then things began to change…

I stopped wanting imperfect…Maria started dating Kyle…imperfect with perfect…

And Liz dumped Max.

One day I got the courage to ask her why she left him…why she left the perfection that was their lives.

She looked at me silently for a few minutes and then shook her head smiling…

“Nothing’s totally perfect Michel” She replied softly with that smile that made my heart soar.

I didn’t believe her but it made me think.

Looking down at the goddess lying in my arms, I still think she is perfect. From her dark brown hair to her cute painted toenails…she is the epitome of perfection.

I fought her for a while…I didn’t want to destroy her perfect life. In the end she sat down with me and discussed it.

Who knew she saw me as perfect?

But she does. It’s hard to believe at first, but she does.

And that makes me realise something…

Perfection is subjective…

And nothing is totally perfect.

But I’m good that way.



[ edited 3 time(s), last at 22-Oct-2001 3:19:19 PM ]
posted on 22-Oct-2001 3:21:43 PM
Perfection

I am Isabel Evans.

I have the house…

I have the family…

I have the money…

And I have the attitude.

But I am nowhere near perfection.

I have the clothes…

The looks…

The popularity…

God! I even have the intelligence!

I drive home with my brother…

Do my homework at the kitchen table…

Share the day’s events with my family…

And then go to my room.

My fashionable, stylish room.

And what do I do in my room?

I cry.

Because I am not nearly perfect…I am imperfect

I get up in the morning and I wear a mask.

A beautiful, cold mask.

And it stays up…

I am hypocritical

And fake

And alone.

And I am trying really hard to keep this fa├žade up.

Because if I stop trying for a second it will slip away.

And after the house, and the family, and the money and the looks have faded away…

What’s left?

Nothing.

Nothing worth knowing anyway.

I envy Michael…

He may not be most intelligent,

And he may not have the house or the family…

But he has style and he has charm…

And he’s real. He’s real.

And I…Isabel Evans…am a clown

Dancing to a tune that is not my own…

That I do not like…

But I don’t try and change it…

And it has taken over.