our wabi sabi star dust
Perfect doesn't exist.
But I'm not so sure imperfect exists, either.
Instead, I prefer to shift to wabi sabi - the perfectly imperfect, or imperfectly perfect, or hell, let's just call it life and get on with the whole thing.
Life: constantly cycling from new to old to new to old in an endlessly recycled loop.
This beautiful boy of ours is new, but the atoms he is made of were once stardust. The same as yours. The same as mine. We are stars, billions of billions of years old.
And yet, we are also new. New to each moment we experience, for it is new.
New and old, at the same time. Perfect and imperfect, at the same time.
Beautiful, beautiful, beautiful.