Far From Perfect

I walk down the sidewalk beside storefronts that deter me from entering. The wind rustles the trees and leaves detach to meet their siblings on the cement below my feet. The winter chill goes through my body and wakes up every nerve sending a multitude of identical messages to my brain stating: it's f*ing cold!

I make my way into the building that I call "home". The chipped paint and cracked tiles that once scared and disgusted me have become familiar. Climbing the three flights of stairs, although still a chore, is a relief knowing that my door is just minutes away.

I unlock the door to my 31st ave 1 bedroom and close it behind me, leaving the city on the outside, uninvited. The sounds of sirens, passersby speaking too loudly, and unmuffled cars still make their attempt to slither through the cracks of my unlocked windows...

I crawl into my bed and sit buried in the white comforter that brings little comfort to the headache. I grab my laptop and consider what is bothering me. I begin to write about leaves and 31st ave.... and of course, replay recent events in my head as if my conscience were a priest in my own private confessional.

I am far from perfect. I am very good at making mistakes...almost too good. Actually, I am perfect...perfect at being imperfect. If you know me well enough, then you know why I tend to make these mistakes. So I apologize to all of you who have been involved in some of these unfortunate and usually embarrassing moments in my life. I thank you for taking me as I am... -M