Perfect

You invited me to go on a date with you, I was ecstatic. I thought, "aren’t I lucky?”

You smiled at me, that dimpled smile that leaves girls breathless, that smile that makes every girl, even some guys, weak in the knees. You said, "I'll pick you up at seven, alright?" I nodded my head; I didn't trust my voice that time. I didn't want to stutter, to seem so desperate, to turn you off In anyway.

I stared at my full-length mirror for a long time. It's near my light yellow closet. My room has a summery vibe to it. At that time, I hoped you will be able to visit my room one day, I hoped you like summer. I love the summer. I love the ocean.

I continued to stare at the mirror, my eyebrows furrowed as I scrunched my nose. o. No, this skirt will not do. I quickly removed it, tossed it aside. I'll clean my room later, I told myself, my mum would understand.

I needed to look perfect. I needed something perfect. You are perfect; I needed to be perfect too. I closed my eyes and rubbed the bridge of my nose, imagining all the possible outfits to wear.

I heard my mum shout from down the stairs, "Emily!" She cried. "John's here!" I panicked. My eyes grew wide; I glanced at the clock, you were early, so very early.

I glanced at my short white blouse and the leggings I’ve put on because it was the first thing I saw. It doesn't have the pizzas factor, it doesn't scream you-are-worth-my-effort-to-dress-up-for. I let out a frustrated noise from the back of my throat, a wail of anguish.

I heard my mum laughing, I heard you saying something. My mum was talking to you; she most probably said something embarrassing.

I grabbed my favourite pair of sandals; it was under the bed, I kicked it under there sometime yesterday, I remembered. I glanced at the mirror one last time, I’m still very unsatisfied, but I bolted out the room.

My descending down the stairs made thuds resonate throughout the house, you looked up and my breath hitched. You looked so very beautiful; I still don't understand why you asked me out.

A deep red coloured your cheeks, and I felt heat creeping up my own cheeks that time. We were like innocent children, who fell in love for the first time. I don't know with you, but I am in love and it is my first time. I fancied some guys when I was younger, but no one caught my attention, no one else ever made my heart thud so loud.

I fell in love with you not for you looks, those were a plus factor, I fell for you because of who you are. I fell for the small things that make you who you are. I fell for the way you would look at little children, the way your eyes give off a warm vibe every time you see them. I fell for the way you talk to people, like you aren’t better than anyone, you respect them. I fell for the way you would blow the steam off your coffee, but not too hard, because you don’t want the hot steam hitting anyone’s face. But most of all, I fell for who you are, when you think no one is looking.

I would look at the birds outside my window, sharing one nest, sharing a worm as if it were a strand of spaghetti. I would look at the way they sing to each other and still think the way I feel for you is so much stronger than the way the birds feel towards each other.

I cascaded down the stairs slowly, and when I finally reach the bottom, you took my hand and it felt like I was in my prom night and I imagined you in a tux.

I loved what you were wearing; perfect, like the rest of you. You were wearing a blue shirt, the colour like the ocean and simple black jeans, both very well pressed. Your hair tousled in a perfect way, matching your careless, carefree persona. I also love that, how carefree you are.

You said goodbye to my mum and kissed her cheek, the perfect gentleman etiquette. I said goodbye also, kissing her on the other cheek. She winked at me when you weren't looking, I gave her a nervous smile and she patted my back reassuringly. She glanced at you again and smiled a warm smile, indicating that she already likes you. I was not surprised.

You let go of my—I know was already very sweaty--hand for a while to grab the doorknob. You twisted it open and as you were twisting it open, I noticed something.

I saw a stain on the side of your shirt and I thought; you're not so perfect after all. Then I realized, I like it better that way, because perfect is not real and I want something real.