Dear Self,

The world is an imperfect place. It just puts up a façade of flawlessness but in reality, it is flawed. So why do I write? Do I write to express? Do I write to correct the wrongs? But to be really honest . I write to accept. To accept flaws and imperfections.To make peace with them. To create your own distortion in the already chaotic world.

Every form of creation is a way to correct those flaws but they only add to it. But it is a creator’s signature in the world. A seemingly perfect landscape has a distortion that no one but the creator knows. It’s their way to subtly distort when every one is just trying to make things flawless. That’s why every form of creation bears the creators signature. Not inside corner, but in the very fibre of its existence. And falling in love with those flaws. That’s another level of beauty and peace.

It is really difficult to appreciate the beauty of mere imperfections, that spilt ketchup on your cheek, that smudged kajal lining your eyes. That extra layer of fat around your waist . The pimples, the unnatural Dimples. It’s definitely normal to feel this way where your heart yearns “Why can’t I be perfect? Why can’t I fit in?’ Its normal to feel this way. But it’s definitely stupid  to keep feeling that way.

So why don’t we take a break. Step on the brakes. Stop. And just have a long sincere laugh. And tell ourselves. I may not be perfect. I’m definitely flawed. But that’s somehow insanely alright. Cause it really does not need to be perfect, when it can be better instead.

There is a certain contentment to accept and make peace with your demons. There is a certain beauty to accept yourself. Flaws and all. You don’t really need anybody to accept you for who you are. When you do that - there is a sense of freedom that overcomes you. A peace you need to experience to understand. Its beautiful.

It’s definitely not a destination but a journey. But when you understand that ,there’s no stopping you from becoming infinite.