Perfect

I don't want perfect.

Give me your sadness, and let me hold your hand when you feel that you are about to drown any minute.

I don't want polished corners, let me feel your rough edges, and let me taste the rust from your past that you hide somewhere deep inside your heart.

Pain rises in your chest like waves, gently at first, then crashing into your half-baked dreams and hopes.

I want your good nights, bad nights, and every night from there on. I want to hold you when you tremble from fear. I want to love you until you fall in love with yourself, and then I want to love you some more.