The one with the imperfect moment

I have never been very open with my feelings, especially regarding feelings of sadness, nervousness, worry or shame. I keep them with me, safely locked in my mind, for my own personal use. I don’t trust people well, I don’t apologise well, I don’t sympathise well. James described me as “A nice version of me.” The version he was describing was the empty spiral of nothing that swirled where my compassion for people is. It is difficult for me to drag out deep sincere feelings to people much of the time, even if I want to.
For example, Today, due to my own careless stupidity, I accidentally let my test tubes, spew heated chemicals on Ivan. I immediately apologised, repeating “I’m sorry” a couple of times. But through it all, even though I really was apologetic, I was thinking, what is the point? He still has chemicals on him, saying it wont take it off. But protocol expects what protocol dictates, and I just kept on repeating it.

So when somebody, somebody great, penetrates my thick hull of a emotional barrier, it is a brilliant achievement. Let all who read this remember that.


An imperfect moment, an imperfect time
Doesn’t matter when it is with the person, who in your eyes is perfection.