"The antidote to perfectionism is repair."
Repairing room, the mind.
A kind of sanatorium where the words I want to write down pull me up before I drown.
Not always, not in every situation.
No perfection in thought.
There ought to be but isn't much you can do about that, but repair is one of them.
After rejection, clean up the blood, flood your body with love, knit together, stronger.
The longer you wait for the right moment, the more you delay your happiness.
I'm not about optimistic forgiveness. I believe in humanity's recidivism.
But our actual individual strength? Restorative.
Despite the odds.
