Can love be perfect?

I ask. Can love be perfect? I thought about this the whole of today. And I am yet to understand. You see. The two words namely "love" and "perfect" evoke emotions which are not easy to interpret. Alone the two mean something for everyone. Together, some are yet to find meaning. I am one of them. No doubt. It is accepted that both love and perfection have various shades. Both are unique. And both are rare yet found everywhere. Both are found in varying degrees. And the perception of each and everyone is different to both of them. I ask again. Can love be perfect??

I sat lazily on my couch on a bright Sunday afternoon. The glass on the table was half empty, half full. You might wonder why I say both. And I asked this too. I was not sure what mood I was in. Thats why. The camera was lying around from two days. I uploaded some pictures taken a few days back. Not very fascinating I felt. Everything was lying around in a not so efficient way. The fact that I dont have too many visitors offers me even less an incentive to tidy up. There was the little Snoopy sitting right on top of the table. And looking intently upon me. And then the book besides the coffee table. For a moment I felt I was seeing things. But, I guess Snoopy had already read my mind. I had been reading Tolstoy's Anna Karenina for about three months now. I had already finished three fourths of it inside a week. The last part was taking the rest of the time. I admit. I read most of the book without any intensity. I took upon the book mainly because of the writer's reputation. Just for the record, this happens to be my first Tolstoy novel. For all this time, the story did not capture my attention. But today, suddenly, I was asked this question. And ever since, the rest of the day has gone into thinking about this question. Can love be perfect??

I dont know since when we as a species have been looking for love and perfection. Both are innate human desires. And it can be assumed fairly easily that the first man and woman must have shown some desire for either or both. Anthropologists and historians. I wont bother arguing with you on this if you disagree. I move on. Now. Something I find interesting is this. It is pretty difficult to discern one from the other. Give it a try. Every poet knows this. Every artist knows this. Every laborer knows this. I can easily understand why this question now seems more like the riddle: what came first ...the phoenix or the ashes? The fact that each is deeply connected with the other makes the case absolutely captivating. Can there be love without perfection? Can there be perfection without love? I know not as I write. I have had my fair share of love I think. Family. Friends. Not quite from a lady fair. But I am waiting. Can all the love that I have been blessed with so far be called perfect? Hmmm. Well, there is always that feeling that there could have been more. Could have been better. And could have been more differently expressed. Not that I am complaining. But, I guess its very much in our nature to be never satisfied. Ask the guy who just spent a whole day by the beach with his girl. And he still maintains that he hasnt had enough. Ask the child who just had a big box of chocolates. Yup. Hasnt had enough. I guess the answer is that love cannot be perfect? Well, lets not hurry to any conclusions as of now. Perfection is something we appreciate. Something we admire. Something we look forward to. Something that every human endeavor calls its goal. Can it be achieved? Has it been achieved? Well, this depends on whom you ask this. The most adorable fan of someone will easily claim that her idol has already achieved perfection. Never mind if that idol of hers doesnt agree. The most judicious of critics will easily find the most difficult of flaws in everything there is. Then is it that perfection is only relative? Same again. I do not know as I write....

Being in love is being perfect. The love of a mother for her child. The love of a father for his child. The love of a husband for his wife. The love of one friend for another. The love of a devotee for his or her God. They all are perfect. And yet they are not. As I close upon this piece, I would like to believe that love is perfect. Only because it has its own imperfections. And it gladly accepts them. Something that we find difficult to accept in ourselves. Can love be perfect? Well, nobody's perfect. And thats what makes love so special...