I'm keeping some mistakes

I had a shirt I loved to wear, it read, in Spanish "I'm not perfect, just forgiven." And I guess I thought, for the longest time, that grace would justify my imperfections... but then, one day, that just seemed wrong to me. Grace? justifying me? It felt as I was taking it more as an excuse for my imperfections and I guess it got too complicated and so I just stopped thinking about it. That might have been a mistake, or maybe not. Truth is, I don't know. I don't know what I should do with those questions and so I stopped asking them at loud and started embracing palpable things and wanting to make those impalpable ones into something else..... and suddenly I was called a surrealist painter.

And truth is, I'm just trying to get it. And I never seem to even come close that knowledge I'm looking for... and just like I'm with words (you see, a little confused and random) I am with pictures, images, lines. Everything about me seems to be mixed up.

But then, there are times of clarity where things just seemed to fit. And then I'm happy, and so calm. Even when I'm a bag full of mistakes and regrets... because I regret so much. I regret not calling April that summer she was gone, I regret not hugging my dad goodbye, and not writing back, and not calling back, and I regret not saying what I feel most of the time. And I regret so many things I write in this blog of my confusions.... but then again, those are my mistakes, and sometimes... sometimes I am my mistakes. And so I'm keeping them, because they make my story along with happy times and smiles. And even when I don't know what I wanted to say when I started writing this, I feel so much better. As if embracing imperfections is somehow not as bad as it sounds.

always.