I relish minor discomforts. Don’t you? The aching
Weight to your legs after a far-away walk,
The flavoured flatness of herbal tea,
The pip stuck longingly between molars.
The furtive uncertainty of turning out the lights
On an unwholesome staircase. The vague
But persistent traffic, distantly marring
A quiet night. Eyes watering
From basking in a huge, filthy, jubilant bonfire.
Nothing is perfect, after all. So surely,
All asymmetry reflects godliness.
Also, not quite being able to “Lady Macbeth” the
Tobacco-smell from my finger’s delicate
Underbelly, its reassuring scent.
There is another craving to be had
The unremembered name of a
Crossword clue, its taste on the tip of your… what is it?
Blank squares calling out
An unspoiled, because unfinished, memory;
Or the secret delight of knowing that
Because of your own idleness (it felt so good),
Today’s task is partially left over
For a smilingly imperfect, shruggable, tomorrow.
It’s nice when things go to plan, or are symmetrical and ordered, balanced, what have you. But also, nothing in life is ever truly ordered, no single day in life is the “that day” when all one’s troubles are finally over, for good. We learn not to avoid storms, but to dance when it rains. So enjoy imperfections. Remember: you are one.