MR PERFECT

Dear Mr Perfect,

When I saw you walk into the building, I was reminded by my cheeks that you were the only colorful pixel my eyes spotted amongst the vast crowd of black and whites.

Your presence turned me into a chameleon, cos I became pink at the radiance of your crescent lips which revealed angelic diamonds in the form of dentitions when you smiled.

And your smile can make an angel think herself human, while you an angel.

I know this may sound stupid but, this is not one of the first ten times I have succeeded in stealing more than glances from you. I’ve tried stealing your attention a couple of times this week but it seems your eyes are body-guarded with a soul that is divine, and I hope she does not recognize the bandit in me trying to capture your eyes away from its sockets—be hostage of my love.

So yeah, you can go ahead and call me a thief.

A man like you has got all ladies dreaming of a day the sun will go black in their troubles and you’d come rescue them as a dark knight that you are.

I must say, black looks good on you, and I might look better.

Yeah, It’s true, you have got all what a lady wants and needs—the money, warriors body (I’m pretty sure you got that shape from winning a war with failure), a character that defies nature and makes me shiver at hot noon, and sweat like a cold drink from the freezer even when the ACs are at 16°c; and most especially, your handsome looks that makes perfect feel flawed and rainbows want to mimmick your handsome.

Truly, Mr, if we are God’s masterpiece, then you are His Master Masterpiece. His favorite piece of art in this art gallery of an earth.

And although I may never have anything else—apart from greeting you and thinking about you all the time; purposely passing by your office door multiple times each workday, and calling you during weekend and nights to ask questions that have got obvious answers—I’m thrilled I get the opportunity to see you handle every single issue my mind refuses to confront when you’re in close proximity.

In all I’m saying, Mr, no man’s ever been perfect, only God is, but I can testify you are made in His image, like for real( maybe the rest of the men are made to resemble angels, I mean, I can’t say. No offense to them all). You’re not perfect either, cos if you are, then you won’t be a real man.

But sadly, you’re not the first perfect man I’ve dreamt into reality. So if you ever find this letter, it’s buried within my wishes. A place only the flawless can reach through—and I am not, I can’t be. Once I bury it, it can only come back as a memory.

Maybe you’re one of my memories of a perfect man I wish for myself, or maybe you’re not. Maybe you’re lying within the soul of every man with good intentions.

But if you ever read till this end, just know I’m broken and hoping for a man like you.

coz I still wake up in the morning, look into the mirror and ask myself…

Will I ever find someone like you?