Or maybe I’m beautiful, broken.
An accidental masterpiece.
Like the lop-sided table in the restaurant, sat at by the couple on a first date. Every time the conversation runs dry, the table suddenly wobbles and a bit of his drink spills. He looks stupid trying to keep it from falling. It’s awkward. But it’s exciting. And I made it that way. Broken.
Hell, as long as I’m still useful…