Almost 3 years ago, I got this email that read:
“hey jorge,
I am crying for the crooked man selling tickets at the shopping mall last February. I am crying for the bitten edges of a maple leaf. I am crying for the orphans we don’t see on TV, whose eyes aren’t large enough, whose teeth aren’t white enough. I am crying for the piece of gum stuck to my sneakers. I am crying for the night the water flooded our tent.
I am crying for all the toast I have burnt.
I am saying, yes.
Yes.
I am imperfect.
(via fiveredballoons)




