Only the imperfect could frame a perfect photograph,

Photography isn’t for the perfect,
It’s for the flawed to discover flawlessness.

Perhaps that the reason I took up photography,
In search of flawlessness,
I stumble upon my own conscious.
It’s blemished.

Through the lenses lies perfection,
The elegant lady poses gracefully in the sunset,
The dazzling jewels on her neck,
The nostalgic perfection in the picture

The kind of flawless that could only be wished.