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Disclaimer: nothing mine here (maybe only grammar mistakes).
Nia. Rachel. Zoë. Miss Parker.
Different kinds of imperfect love.
Some never able to blossom, some more imperfect than others. Some very close to its fullness, others barely near.
But love all the same.
I’ve learnt that all love is imperfect, that every ‘incomplete’ love's just another piece of this imaginary perfect love - only a side of ideal love.
Because in life anything real has to cope with imperfection.
For me, it’s never been about love. It’s been about timing and choices.
Whenever I’ve finally found love, I’ve always had to choose paths that lead me away from it.