Perfection.

The sky. Flowers. If a harmony can produce an overtone. The way Kleenex leans to the side of the box. Sometimes I'll catch a girl in the perfect light and she'll look like an angel or something. The way water spouts from a drinking fountain. A blinking cursor. Hardwood floors. The hem of any dress. Waists. A paper with only letters on it, no smudges or anything crossed out, with consistent handwriting. So hand written final drafts. Clean paper too. Pianos. Faded silver. The word 'daughter'. Eyes, as long as they're not bloodshot. Small children. Clouds. The look of the air in the beginning of spring. Dirt roads without litter. Sea shells. Wrist bones. A clean white window frame. A well-loved cello. A clean sheet of music. A well proportioned paragraph. When someone wears jean that fit them exactly right. Footprints. A lowercase k in cursive. Collarbones. Waves. Sailboats and large masted ships. Prairies. Ribbons. Blue paisley.

I don't do the crying thing about lifted tension. Usually.