Certain things in life are perfect
But no one cares about those
I don’t care about the clear blue sky or a fresh fluffy bathrobe
Boring
I care about the perfectly imperfect
I care when hearts are broken and lives are changed
I care when there is pain and death; don’t we all?
When things are perfect, why care?
Nothing to work for, nothing to better
No reason to focus on it
But when things are imperfect, they capture my mind
They draw it in and puzzle it with a task
How to fix the imperfect?
When things are perfectly good, we smile
We tell ourselves it’s good, and that’s all we want
When things are perfectly bad, we frown
And give up hope, for what purpose does worry serve?
Why bother to care when it serves no benefit?
So we don’t care.
When things are perfectly imperfect…we work
A problem to solve, an idea to ponder
Thoughts to work out, help to seek
Challenges to overcome, things to do, so many things to do
We crave the perfect good
But we enjoy it not
Only that which is imperfect
May satisfy the human craving
May sate our working minds and care our boredom
Only that which is imperfect
Is what makes our lives worth living
In utopia, there is nothing
Nothing of consequence, nothing to care about
But in this world of problems of solutions, of curiosity and achievement
In this world of imperfection, we thrive