You were a dream and a fantasy,
So real I could almost feel you in my hands.
But like a mirage born of thirst and dryness,
You were most certainly an illusion,
Cultivated by desperation, nourished by judgement.
So, I will lay you to rest,
Forever gone.
I won’t even mourn you,
Or feel guilty not remembering
What I thought you were.
About The Death of Perfection – Perfectionism causes unnecessary stress, anxiety, and self-doubt. The text was originally composed as part of a therapeutic exercise during which the author held a funeral for perfection. Remember, each failure is just a step on the staircase that leads to success.