Perfect Imperfections “Please leave my mind,” I think to myself as I stare out the window, dozing off to the sound of jays chirping along to the rustles of leaves swaying with the autumn breeze. “I can’t though.” Thoughts of him consumes my mind everyday and night. From his twinkling eyes to his brightening smile; he is the most perfect human being any soul can encounter. “He is so perfect,” I gleam as images of his features run through my mind incessantly. His chocolate brown hair stands straight and tall yet is so soft to the touch. His soft and caring eyes are a splash of colors: a ring of blue-green in the center with a caramel-brown surrounding it and hints of gold flecks appearing here and there. His intense, yet gentle, stare would melt my heart as I lose myself in them. The sound of …show more content…
My stomach aches with butterflies continuously fluttering around. “We can meet down at Lacamas Lake.” “I guess,” I respond, trying not to appear desperate. My heart thumps rapidly in my chest, loud enough for the world to hear. “Let’s meet in ten minute.” I instantly jump to my feet and run straight to my closet, shuffling through my clothes looking for my newest outfit. I step out in a plain white pullover hoodie, black jeans, and white shoes. I walk to the lake at a steady pace, observing the nature that had created my very existence. The warm breeze flows through the trees softly, carrying colorful leaves off each branch and into the sky. My nose fill up with the scent of sweet violet Dahlias blooming along the edge of the Lacamas Heritage Trail. The sound of singing robins, rustling leaves, and ripples from the lake are melodies to my ears that compliment one another with perfect rhythm. Lastly, standing in front of me is the only human being with every part of his body positioned in every right places. His shirtless toned abs are exposed to the naked eye, his kind eyes meet mine, and his perfect lips curl up into a welcoming
It was a normal sunny day. Samantha was abandoned by the parents at age 15. Samantha woke up knowing that she was not alone in her house. She felt this type of presence with her in her room. She gets a phone call from her friends she had met the day before.
Gentle sea breeze tickled my face as I watched wisps of white fluff drifted across a crystal clear blue sky. The rhythmic sound of the wave; the screeching of the sea birds was so familiar and hypnotic at the same time. However, my children’s pearls of laughter turned all the other sounds into background
His hair shimmered in the light, illuminating the golden colour of the highlights in his hair. His hands were hovering over a large sheet of white paper, a pencil in hand. I deeply inhaled. He was… "Beautiful," I mumbled,
The form of this poem is structured in a way that enhances the readers understanding of the poem with the “echo” The “voice” can be, described as
In the novel The Chrysalids by John Wyndham we see a society who values conformity and perfections over everything, failing to realize the imperfections they all contain. Some have hidden imperfections, which once found out are seen as mutant abilities. Others have such messed up, and horrid morals and beliefs, ones which are far from perfect. Then if you try to compare the people of Waknuk to the Sealand people you notice that they will always find imperfections in the other. This novel shows that although they may only notice visible mutations and imperfections you can find something imperfect in everyone.
I can 't get out of this box. The last time I looked out my window I saw meadows. Long, far, empty meadows. Living on the great plains has it 's benefits, but those meadows are ruining it for me. I keep my head away from the window.
"No, dearest Georgiana, you came so nearly perfectly from the hand of Nature, that this slightest defect, which we hesitate to term a defect or a beauty, shocks me as being the visible mark of earthly imperfection." Alymer sees this mark as something ruining an almost perfect canvas. Knowing her husband views this mark, which she believes is a charm her whole life, as a defect really hurts her self-esteem. Now something she once viewed as a charm she now is almost as disgusted by it as Alymer is. She cannot bear to look at herself in the mirror or to see her real beauty.
The room is warmed by, “…the fire, stirring with a/ stick of iron, letting the logs/ lie more loosely.” (6-8). The warmth sets the scene of this love poem. Images are not only felt, but also heard. Sounds come from the, “…noisy machine/ stands in our house working away in its lung-like voice.”
Imagery and tone plays a huge role for the author in this poem. It’s in every stanza and line in this poem. The tone is very passionate, joyful and tranquil.
I can feel the muscles in my face relaxing, my pace quickening as I climb the hills to our place, a rock ledge
Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock. Hearing the clock tick while staring at the dull grey walls of the hospital – everything seemed to be still.
I see the faint shadows of towering, tall trees side by side in the forest. It 's dark out. All the critters are asleep and there are no longer the sounds of angry drivers racing down the nearby highway, or shouts of children on the playground a couple blocks down. The white, fluffy, deep snow makes it hard to walk, and my feet are numb from the cold. I have to squint my eyes to make out what 's in front of me.
Is there such a thing as a 100% perfect love? Haruki Murakami explores this question in his short story “On Seeing the 100% Perfect Girl One Beautiful April Morning.” Murakami balances magical elements with reality to convey the message that the concept of perfect love in all probability does not exist but even if it did, it cannot overpower the rest of reality. Murakami uses elements of magical realism throughout his narrative to highlight the improbability of such a love’s occurrence.
The cool, upland air, flooding through the everlasting branches of the lively tree, as it casts a vague shadow onto the grasses ' fine green. Fresh sunlight penetrates through the branches of the tree, illuminating perfect spheres of water upon its green wands. My numb and almost transparent feet are blanketed by the sweetness of the scene, as the sunlight paints my lips red, my hair ebony, and my eyes honey-like. The noon sunlight acts as a HD camera, telling no lies, in the world in which shadows of truth are the harshest, revealing every flaw in the sight, like a toddler carrying his very first camera, taking pictures of whatever he sees. My head looks down at the sight of my cold and lifeless feet, before making its way up to the reaching arms of an infatuating tree, glowing brightly virescent at the edges of the trunk, inviting a soothing, tingling sensation to my soul.
My mom, my sweet, gentle mom. My mom is like my sister, we love to talk about juicy stuff and love to share with each other what we did during the day. I don 't like to imagine myself without her because she is basically my life. She is caring and kind and always have a smile on her face when she sees me. When I say her name I get a picture of her in my mind.