Perfect
It was supposed to be everything she'd ever dreamed of. It was supposed to be perfect. She'd spent so much time dreaming of it—of him. Of their moment together. And then to get it—get him—and for real… It should have been prefect. Didn't she deserve it? After all her pining and wasted time, all the hurt and crushed spirits; why couldn't the real thing live up to her ideal? Just this once? The pedestal in her mind wasn't that high, really.
But it wasn't perfect, not even close. It was better than anything she'd found before, though. Not perfect but still… good. Nice. Worthwhile. Sometimes she'd forget he was hers, just for a moment. Then it'd hit her, just like it had when he asked her to prom, and she'd wonder how she'd gotten so lucky. Even if it wasn't perfect, somehow he was still hers. And it felt like she'd hit the jackpot and won the lottery—at the same time. It was amazing. Wonderful. Almost perfect.
She should've known it was only a matter of time before the other shoe dropped. Even when he was hers he was never really hers. He never really belonged to anyone, not for too long. He always had his eyes open, just in case. Like he didn't want to miss something better. Someone better. She should've known it would only be a matter of time before someone new caught his attention. It was his nature. But, true to her own way, she'd been drawn in like a moth to a flame. Too blinded by the flame to feel the fire.
It'd been no surprise (to anyone other than herself) when she'd ended up just like the moth: burned. It should've been perfect. She wasn't stupid. She'd always known wouldn't last forever. But if it couldn't last, why couldn't it live up to her perfect dreams? If she was going to have her heart broken by him yet again, didn't she deserve at least that? This had been her chance to live her dream. And, if she had, maybe she'd have had the memory to comfort her on the lonely nights that followed his leaving.
She didn't, though. There was no comfort. But, before too long, those nights began to be fewer and farther between. She still had her friends and, as luck would have it, a new (super cute) transfer student with a really adorable accent who dug her hairstyle. So maybe it still hurt to see him walking down the hall, arm slung around Girlfriend #53's neck; she could handle it. And, slowly but surely, that empty feeling she'd been sure she'd never be able to fill again faded.
Until one day it was gone, just like that. As if it'd never really been there in the first place. She'd moved on and without even really noticing it. Suddenly, her smile seemed just a little bit brighter. Her steps a little bit bouncier. And her memory of being with him? It was just that: a memory. Imperfect as always. He'd done her a great service, she decided, by being his imperfect self. (Not that he could be any other way but still. She could finally appreciate it.)
Because those imperfections—all those little things that made their time together not quite as special as she'd wished and hoped and dreamed—without them, she might've never been able to get over him. She might've spent her whole life broken and depressed over the boy she couldn't make love her enough to be her perfect boyfriend forever instead of finding a way to move on. Move forward. Worse, she might've missed out on other great guys (like Serge) because of it.
It hadn't been perfect, not even close. And she wouldn't have had it any other way.
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