People love the facade of a perfection relationship because perfection seems alluring. What they don’t realize is perfection is terrifying.

I loved everything to anything to everyone who surrounded him. He was perfect. A delusion with a sweet melancholy taste. He was crazy, but he was my crazy and inside, everything felt right.

It was perfect, but perfection is terrifying.

I romanticized him until he was the perfect being. A soul so beautiful, but so immensely evil too.

Sure, he might not have been perfect, but if I thought he was, isn’t that all that matters?