Perfect. Seven words, that were supposed to be the exact definition of me at all times no matter what. Perfect, that's exactly what I was for as long as I can remember, then it stopped. Who's fault was it? Mine. Period, that's the answer point blank, right there. What exactly did I do to screw myself up even worse than Trina screwed herself up? I didn't tell him. Who? Andre Harris, the talented, sweet, nice, corny in his own special way guy. I was lucky to be in love best friend, and to have been where I'd been but I never told him how I felt. I never had the perfect boyfriend I was supposed to have. The one who could sweep me off my feet, and sing love songs, and make me laugh when I felt like crying; all because I didn't go and tell him how I felt because "Perfect Tori" was scared.
Sometimes I think perfect shouldn't even be a goal if you can't reach it, because I sure didn't reach it. And it was right in front of me.