The Imperfect Mystery — Me
A little piece to the Imperfect Mystery of my life.
He was a mystery, or maybe he just wanted to be one.
In the world full of chimeric perfection, he was nowhere. He was flawed, so flawed that he’d be hanged if imperfection was a felony.
Of course, he wasn’t that lucky.
Growing up as a mediocre and being reminded about it every morning in the hallways of his school, he knew he didn’t belong there. Amidst the fake smiles, fake promises and real envy.
All he wished for, back then, was an escape.
An escape from the misery, from the embarrassment of being himself and from the very own reality he lived in.
Nevertheless, there was one thing he liked about being the way he was— his subconscious. The part of his intellect that showed to him the sacred and the happy worlds of imagination. A world where he was perfect. Perfect not because he had perfectly aligned teeth and a fashionable dressing sense but because...