By: Silvia Mordini
Life is messy. I wouldn’t want it any other way. I am in love with imperfect people. My favorite moments are when I’m unshowered, lost in a new place, first waking up in the morning, or after long 24-hour travel days.
I relate easiest to rumpled people who aren’t afraid to show me what they look like when they cry ugly. My fellow travelers who wear the same three outfits for three months. The natural fashionistas who make magic with two scarves and a hat. You are beautiful to me after you’ve danced wildly for an hour and are not just “glowing” politely but are sweaty with sticky clothes and matted hair. I appreciate people who gobble up cookies or ice cream and aren’t afraid to wear some around the corners of their mouths.
Honestly, your messiest side is what I like most about you. The truth is I can’t relate to perfect people. You know, those whose lives neatly flow from point A to B without so much as a moment of uncertainty. I mostly get along best with the spiritually weird, those humans who don’t quite fit in, who color outside the lines, whose lives have been messy and complicated.
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