The impossibility of perfect
The perfect picture, the perfect pen, the perfect dish, the perfect sentence. They’re just some of the things I strive or look for, and then fall into a sense of distress when I discover yet again, that they do not exist.
And yet, when I look at others around me, they seemingly achieve what is perfect in my eyes in a rather annoying effortless manner.
In my eyes. That’s the key here, right? That this perfection I see in others is only from my perspective — not theirs.
Does this then mean that perfection exists, or not?
Maybe perfect is subjective.