Acceptance

Once, I thought a good sky, a worthy sky, should be clear, spotless. And I tried so hard to scrub the stars and moon away, that I scratched out the sky instead. Grey splotches now glare from a patchy sky, and only a sliver of moon is left.

Once, I was a perfectionist. Then I learnt you can’t expect to always get what you want. Isn’t the sky still beautiful, even if I did nothing; even though I did something?