Is it that we're too picky, or we just know what we want?

By 5:57 PM

(For Daniel)

The amusement and riddles
Fade away into annoying redundancies:
Slow and Safe
Vs. Risky and Fun.

The failed past fascinates,
The present tense is well paced.

Small differences stack themselves untidily
In the corners of every room
Till they spill over
And need to be jumped over upon every exit.
Each jump a reluctant acknowledgment
Of a dire situation to be dealt with.

Is it lack of tolerance?
Deep down a flawed conflicted
Psychological perception of perfection...
That keeps things unrequited and unsatisfactory?
Phenomenally... boring?
Idealistic idylls
Potentially exist solely within,
Thus, searching outward is futile,
Searching within is absurd.

Life is adaptation in process,
A tolerance in continuum that dips accordingly:
Nothing is perfect,
Lest we blind ourselves to the flaws.

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