As a deer thirsts for streams of water, 
So I long for perfection, 
But still haven’t found it.
It appears that the more I look for perfection, 
The more I fall into imperfection. 
When I tried to be perfect in all, and to be it all, 
Something always suffered.

Sitting down under the shade like a tree with deep roots, 
I think of two snowflakes. 
Each of them takes the perfect form for their journey, 
But when encountered by the wind, 
They change shapes. 
If the snowflakes can’t be perfect, then I can’t be.
After all, I am human.
After years of trying to be perfect, never getting there, 
I have concluded that there is no such thing as perfection. 

Perfection can only be found in the Creator.
He covers the ground with snow like a blanket of wool,
Scatters frost like ashes on the ground, 
Arranges the stars by their names
And sends down hailstones like chips of rocks.
Creating humans to be imperfect wasn’t a mistake.
He did that to show us that our uniqueness lies in our imperfection. 
So searching for perfection is a journey leading to frustration.



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