Damsel in Distress

She was perfect in her own way, perfect like no one else could be. Unapproachable, perhaps, in about three of her facades, but perfect. Perfect was a moving state, you see, a transient state waiting for the next perfect, the better perfect. I really wish she would find that perfect, perfectly. I've been wishing this for a very long time, you see. When the next time comes, and maybe she comes around, maybe I'll stop.

Perhaps I already missed my stop. Perhaps that's why I'll keep missing her, and I can't be wishing anymore.

I'm not the princess, and never should be. I'm not the damsel in distress, and never will be.