Some days when I run, it feels as if my body could carry me anywhere I want to go. Most days, I hope to find a road that will lead me away: gone from stress, lost from expectations, and out of fear’s reach. Every day, I think, I wonder and maybe if I run fast enough, I will take off and fly.
We all strive to be the best right? But who clarifies what “the best” really is? Perfection usually falls under this category. Magazines have air-brushed faces and middle school pictures are full of wire braces created for straightening smiles. But I love holes in jeans and messy rooms, awkward comments and half done make up. Perfect is determined by the individual; as for me, I think he’s perfect.