And he calls me Miss.

Life is like a puzzle waiting to be built. There is nothing deep about that saying. It's easy to figure out, but also easy to get confused. It's easy. But why is it that normal people like you and I, can never seem to fit the pieces in right? Is there something terminally wrong with the human race? Or maybe we all were born imperfect and ready to make mistakes. Then why is that we look for perfection and dwell on everyone else's mistakes? Aren't we all human?

Perfection is something I'd never love to admit I want. Even the mild OCD won't get in my way of wanting to be perfectly unperfect as can be. I want to be completely imcomplete. But why does the human soul crave perfection? When looking for a lover or friend, we look for perfection. Sometimes it's hard to look over if perfection has a flaw. Or if flaw has a perfection. Personally I want a challege. Perfection is like the flu. You look at and and don't want it, but it catches you. Even if it's just having to make sure everything around you is order, or that your grades are up to your high expetations.

So he calls me Miss. He has always called me Miss. I will never understand what he means. And he will never understand how it makes me feel. I will never understand how it makes me feel.

He is anything but a perfection, nor flaw. He is the puzzle.