Perfect is the flaws we all have.

Perfect is the times we take to really see things beyond the confinement of the screens in front of us.

Perfect is lend an ear or a hand to those in need.

Perfect is what we need it to be and not for others.

And finally, perfect is when you fail and still get up to try again.

Hypnos presses ice-cold lips against my forehead, granting my every wish instantly. I open my eyes, and I am small again, racing on the playground. The school wasn't perfect, but the air felt just right as it flowed around my body, wrapping me in a maternal hug. I could play with the boys shirtless without hearing about it. We could giggle in the library and race up and down the halls without care now that the classes have ended. Occasionally, I would see my favorite teacher in her room and talk to her while she graded and earn my very own box of Dots. Sucking them down like a serpent, I would return to color and jump rope and watch "Maya and Miguel" (though I hated the jingle the other kids came up with to remember my name and my brother's). We would go out later and I could play teetherball with the fifth graders. We would stomp rogue cockroaches as we played tag in the gym. We would race around, chucking hard dodgeballs, until we were breathless and our limbs hurt.

Sweating, I watched the microcosm of my childhood ripple, reflecting all the good times as I sauntered through adolescence and puberty. Listening to "Kim" on the bus with my best friend, then banding together to ask the lunch lady for another packet of ketchup with another. Playing volleyball in gym class, hanging out in my aunt's humungous house, playing basketball with my dad's friend's kids. My lungs seize and sigh at the sight of so much running, before I got fat and hated moving too much for fear that I'll wear another rug burn into another beloved pair of jeans. I was perfection then, smiling even though all I remember are the tears.

I heard footsteps and turned around to see me years from now. Though I am blurred out, I can tell. I am followed by a horde of nieces and nephews and the occasional rogue pet. We played tag and football until their parents came in and scolded me for them not being ready for bed. I shrugged innocently, hugged them goodnight, and walked out into the humid air. The heat swirled in my lungs, a pleasant reminder that I've finally escaped winter. Getting back to my home, I walked into to dark silence. The pitfall of my newest gift. The happiness it brings it always echoed by emptiness. I let my keys fall to the ground since there was no one to tell me not to. My phone is silent for another night, and I drop it inches from my keys. I feed the pets I've accumulated, then tune into a new, brighter day.

I teach sex ed. It is Plan E. The first plans were tossed out for various reasons. I swore if I ever became a teacher, I would be lonely with seven cats and hate it immensely. Yet, only two cats in, here I am. My class loves me. They smile as I greet them, chuckle when walk them through coitus, marvel when I explain sexuality, and ask millions of questions when I ask them if they have any. I could easily get fired for teaching the way I do. I don't care. It's Friday, so I throw on Shark Tale and have them pull out all the sexual references. Between giggles, I check my phone. It is always dying now, despite me never using it. I see a couple text from a couple friends, a forgotten booty call, my mother (of course), and you. I answer my mother and delete them all. I am done chasing people. I gave up long ago when I cast my Bachelors of Science aside and got a real job.

The text sticks in my mind though, and when I look at lunch, there are two more. I read them, but don't hold onto what they say. I've heard it seventy times before. You're sorry, something came up, you miss me, can we talk. Tempting as you are, I keep deleting them, refusing to have my heart broken again. You had your chance, and it's gone. I'm twenty-seven now and finally acting my age. What the hell am I saying? My next class trickles in, sounding funny. I bite my lip and look up at the PowerPoint. It is melting. Though the class is yelling and freaking out (in their own musical way), I am completely calm. I can hear something shaking, vibrating on my arm. The Fitbit that I left in my car too long and melted reappears, good as new. It is screaming at me. The kids are screaming. Everything is yelling.

Then, my phone rings. I answer it without looking at caller ID. The world is fading and swirling and has been flooded with blue. My class is gone, my maturity fades, and I am back in my dorm room. My throat hurts, my limbs ache, and I can't find my lungs. My phone is still ringing. I hear your sleepy voice and my organs awaken with a flare. I don't remember words or how to make them happen, but I want to tell you I am glad that you aren't gone. All that comes out is, "What?" You murmur more words then hang up. The world is normal but my brain is still confused, dazed by that icy kiss. I see the clock, and it instantly thaws out. Going on pure adrenaline, I pull myself up and grab some pants. On the way to the bathroom, I wonder what I just foresaw. Midway through theorizing, I run into the side of the door and knock the rest of the dream loose from my head. Shaking the blow off, all I can remember is that my wake up call idea worked and to make that the last time I stay up past 5am when I have an 8am class.