That gruesome scar on his face,
Suddenly becomes so much more desirable when you come to know that he got burnt trying to save a child,
Those chipped front teeth
You find funnier when she tells you she fell on her face drunk dancing,
That hideous wristband on someone
Becomes much more than a rubbery stretchy thing, when you get to know it was of their child
Who succumbed to terminal illness.
When you know the stories behind imperfections,
Why do they seem perfect?
What if the gruesome scar was a birth mark,
Or the chipped front teeth just the way they grew,
Or the wristband, just a wristband.
We would judge them differently, is it not?
If stories make it easy to accept, find the story.
Sometimes not having a story, is also a story.