you weren't perfect. so far from it, in fact, that it was the only thing that convinced me you were real. i saw your flaws, picked out everything that, objectively, i didn't like. i clung to them like lifesavers in a stormy sea, clutching at them, wrapping them around myself. if i could believe in your faults, then maybe i wouldn't need you. maybe i could escape.

i saw them all — and yet, it never changed the overall picture.