Nonblond

A cold shiver rippled through the night. They could feel her, smell her, taste her in the air.... Scrambling, struggling, screaming they ran, flew, crawled, slithered, scampered.... They MUST be quick, fast, swift.... She was there, but at the same time wasn't, couldn't be... They knew but still they sped past obstacles on their paws, wings, claws, scales, feet.... She was the lovedhatedbeloved, and they mustn't miss her.... Mustn't, mustn't.... They were close now.... Should they??? It couldn't be true, was impossible, not able to happen.... But there was the smell, taste, feeling of her.... Just through here, ahead, close. Yesssss.

Why is perfection such a sort after goal? Why do you change yourself for it? After all… Nobody Is perfect… so why do you strive to be Nobody?