You don’t discover the weary scratches of corruption right away.

They’re enveloped in this glittery air of confidence and order. You think you finally know perfection. You fall madly in love. But then the dark comes, and the glimmering stops. All it takes is a second. As soon as you see past the sheen of the surface, your whole world starts to fall apart.

To ascribe imperfection to that which you’ve come to love so completely is impossible. So you try to patch the world back together. You shift blame. You point your finger. You shake your head.

How dare you criticize my home.