I like these days.
I like it when I'm wearing sweatpants for the 123,456,789,000 day in a row, and I wear my glasses instead of contacts. I like it when my school books have exploded all over my desk, and are practically frosted with colored pencils and gel pens. Imagine Dragons and old school Switchfoot songs are playing on my old iPod right now, and I like that too.
There's a certain beauty about ordinary days, isn't there? Time seems to slow down, and little things become more noticeable. The crease of a page in a book where it was once dog-eared. The way the afternoon light touches dust in the air. The crookedness of your baby brother's grin. To me, it all seems so much more there on days like today. There, and beautifully, wonderfully imperfect.
That's something that I really enjoy -- imperfection, I mean. Little flaws give dimension and character to things. Perfection is flat and cold and unattainable. Reality is raw and beautiful; especially in art and people.
So much lovely imperfection.
I like that.