"Charlie, you know nobody's perfect,
right? But why is it that everyone is
to blame? We blame the people around us
for not being perfect.
We say that the impact of
society is destroying us into tiny bits of
gravel. We say that the people creating makeup
are the ones to blame for. We say that the
people who sell cigarettes at the counter
are the ones that give us cancer.
We are so damn selfish that people don't
understand that we are the ones creating this
labyrinth of suffering.
We are the monsters.
And then there are those people who take
perfection to the next level. If one person
isn't "perfect" to them, they toss them away
as if they are a rag doll.
Created in a factory by
people who are underpaid.
Goddammit, Charlie, look
at them."
A girl with big squared glasses,
a ripping knitted hat and a faded
blue jacket was pushed to the side of the
sidewalk by a group of girls.
Get out of the way, loser.
"Just because she isn't their idea of
perfection doesn't mean that
she never is."
Azura brushed the dust off of
her pants and walked up to
the girl, asking if she was okay.
Azura, you are perfect.
