"It was as if my father had given me, by way of temperament, an impossibly wild, dark, and unbroken horse. It was a horse without a name, and a horse with no experience of a bit between its teeth. My mother taught me to gentle it; gave me the discipline and love to break it; and- as Alexander had known so intuitively with Bucephalus- she understood, and taught me, that the beast was best handled by turning it toward the sun."
You you you.
You are my kind of perfect. I never imagined I could have overlooked the intricate parts. But I’m gaining knowledge, I am starting to see. See all these unique textures I never traced before. These little pieces that fit together to make you as beautiful as you are. One may consider these simply flaws, but I feel indebted to the allure of each one. I love them just the same. You are my kind of perfect.