Being in a new place granted me the freedom and acceptance I needed to be comfortable. It is today that I began to notice the differences between love and acceptance - the usual place was evidently filled with love, yet I never really liked it. In fact, the love handed to me, not gingerly but thrust into my arms, had always made me guilty for my discomfort. 

But love and acceptance are different things. You can love something that is not good enough, because it is yours, but the acceptance of the existence of certain flaws is a different matter. Sometimes I feel as though every single flaw of mine stands to be corrected, else my being would be incomplete. Incompletion is human - just not to a perfectionist whose nod of approval equates to a little more weight off my back. 

There are standards you understand but cannot meet. 

There is you, and the person you want to be.