“it was not… that she was unaware of the frayed and ragged edges of life. she would merely iron them out with a firm hand and neatly hem them down.” // p.d. james
however much i humor that side of me that requires order, that switch that necessitates everything to be just so; there will always be a wrinkle, a kink, or that damn pile of paper waiting on me to file it away, drumming its fingers, impatiently lingering in the wings for me. somehow my neuroses reside with a side order of procrastination. it’s a wonder i’m able to get anything done.
and though this little quirk, this fairly innocuous trait is quite at home – away from the neatest of counters, but forever hidden in the mess of every drawer; i know now, that this is just one of my things. i’ve accepted the fact that i will always hover at roughly 97% completion and then crash.
my hair will be washed, my nails will be done, and you’ll find nary a spot of lipstick on my teeth — but if you looked closer, something will be just a little bit askew. i’ll have ripped the tiniest hole in my tights, my left eyebrow will have been threaded a titch thinner than the other; no matter how many times i’ll re-read this, there will be an error, a typo, a grammatical concern i’ve overlooked.
and yet – i’ve finally understood that this is how it all needs to be – that the delight in life can be found in that 3%, in those bits of the imperfect and in the frayed. that’s probably when you’re at your most perfect – trifling flaws and all.
➝ source : denim frayed trench via a common space
➝ source : multi-knit frayed hoodie via sea
➝ source : frayed shift dress via marques almeida