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Description
Pristine. The skin is flawless as it runs around the body of this masterpiece.
Dark eyes are framed with luscious lashes, look into them and you'll get lost for hours.
Red hair flows from the scalp, wavy and curly and soft and smooth as it flows down an arched back, over slim shoulders and curves in all the right places. Slender legs seem to extend forever as they glide towards the floor, graceful in every movement. Delicate fingers finish with filed nails, elegant toes finish with painted ones.
But there is no life here, no love or pain or anguish. How can this be perfect when it does not know what imperfection is?

Torn flesh. You can see straight through to the bone and the beating heart of this one. The skin is marked and flawed with love and loss intertwined as the owner strives towards better, more carefree, less painful. The arms are muscular and toned, yet weak and frail as they hold empty space. Not the lover they crave. Kohl runs down a tanned face as tears stream free of their banks.
But this is not pleasing. It's repulsive and painful to see. How can this be perfection if it's never seen what perfection means?

Adoration. That's what is in this boys eyes as he gazes at his love. He constantly craves her company, dreams about their future, cries when she's sad. He buys her flowers and presents her with gifts hand-picked, handmade. They walk hand in hand everywhere, grins on their faces in their own little bubble. Secure in knowing that they have each other and neither one will abandon the other.
Except this boy has never seen a heart tear itself in two. He has never had to pick up the pieces of his dreams and stick them back together with alcohol and glue. How can this be perfection if he doesn't know heartache?

Description
Pristine. The skin is flawless as it runs around the body of this masterpiece.
Dark eyes are framed with luscious lashes, look into them and you'll get lost for hours.
Red hair flows from the scalp, wavy and curly and soft and smooth as it flows down an arched back, over slim shoulders and curves in all the right places. Slender legs seem to extend forever as they glide towards the floor, graceful in every movement. Delicate fingers finish with filed nails, elegant toes finish with painted ones.
But there is no life here, no love or pain or anguish. How can this be perfect when it does not know what imperfection is?

Torn flesh. You can see straight through to the bone and the beating heart of this one. The skin is marked and flawed with love and loss intertwined as the owner strives towards better, more carefree, less painful. The arms are muscular and toned, yet weak and frail as they hold empty space. Not the lover they crave. Kohl runs down a tanned face as tears stream free of their banks.
But this is not pleasing. It's repulsive and painful to see. How can this be perfection if it's never seen what perfection means?

Adoration. That's what is in this boys eyes as he gazes at his love. He constantly craves her company, dreams about their future, cries when she's sad. He buys her flowers and presents her with gifts hand-picked, handmade. They walk hand in hand everywhere, grins on their faces in their own little bubble. Secure in knowing that they have each other and neither one will abandon the other.
Except this boy has never seen a heart tear itself in two. He has never had to pick up the pieces of his dreams and stick them back together with alcohol and glue. How can this be perfection if he doesn't know heartache?