Flaws are perfection.

Too many flaws are imperfection.

Too little flaws are imperfection.

Yet balance is also imperfection.

Perfection is dynamics, the ever-shifting change. It is the motion of the tide, the wilting of the flower, the shimmer of the rainbow. Perfection is the state of awakened complacency, recognising the futileness of our actions yet daring to struggle. Perfection is the madness of finding joy within pain. Perfection is that fleeting spark. Perfection is the bittersweet knowing that we will always be perfectly imperfect.

Avoiding poetry, and assuming free will, perfection is absolutely subjective.