The Perfectionist Who Loves Her Flaws
The Woman Who Stopped Polishing Her Cracks
I stopped polishing my cracks and learned to love the light that slips through them.
I live in an old apartment with high ceilings and crooked window views. I mend my own clothes, poorly, and call it care. I listen to off-key songs and find the beauty in their stumble. My laughter is loud, my tea is warm, and my cracks are golden. I used to be a perfectionist. Now, I'm a collector of little imperfections.
What I'm Into: kintsugi, handmade mugs, dust motes in sunlight, mismatched thread, songs with wrong notes
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