Not perfect but perfect

sic

nfair after my graduation I'm sitting in this mansi

an still remember"""""sitting at the back of the car crying pretending that I am always fine till I get home because I don't want the driver to find out I don't need anybody to pretty me, as soon as I saw them mention gate I was relieved at least I don't have to pretend anymore I have a flat's to myself there is nothing at perfection in that room I can cry all I want in that room I can be with my real self vent my anger on material things,