I will always remember him calling me perfect.
I was shocked, I was astounded, and I was utterly terrified.
Because perfection is a pedestal I never want to keep.
It's a heavy, unrealistic expectation that made me feel small and weak. I wanted to be perfect, but I knew it would never happen. I know now it never will.
But when he called me perfect,
I felt the pressure to make it true. I wanted, no, needed to be perfect or else I knew I'd feel as though I failed. But the more he called me perfect, the more of a wreck I became.
One day, I told him.
I asked him: "Please don't call me perfect, it's just too much. It's not true now and it never will be, so, please don't call me perfect."
When I explained to him how I felt,
he couldn't help but be confused. "What do you mean? Why does that make you anxious?" And regardless of how many times I explained it to him, it never really broke through.
Eventually, after days of my panicked chatter,
he stopped me and said, "Chloe, fine. Maybe you're not perfect, but you're my perfect. I love you. I think you're perfect, even if you don't. I think you're perfect for me."
But of course that only made me panic more.
How could he say such committal things so unhesitatingly? How could he? How dare he? I choked on my empty words and I eventually realized he would never stop calling me "his perfect".
Even to this day,
though we've long since gone our separate ways. I know deep down in my heart, I will always be "his perfect".