Knock, Knock Short

--Purely in the draft stages and written as seen below within 1 hour. There is nothing really important about it, just something I wrote.

“Knock, knock” pierced through silence. Slowly, the door creaked open, revealing a smallish, round faced young woman wearing a navy blue cotton summer dress, with white shoes.
“Please, come in,” she said to me
“I have an appointment with Dr. Halle.”
“Don’t worry about such things now, it will all be dealt with in time.” She replied as she led me through a maze of doors.
“Please, sit down,” she gestured toward a large, purple velvet armchair.
The guest sat down and the woman left. He was surrounded by oil paintings and tapestries, which seemed out of place in the large, dark room. The floor was covered in a complex Indian rug, which was under another rug, one of tiger skin. This tiger rug’s head was facing him, it appeared to have a smiling mouth and a frowning facial characteristics.
“You’re early, I told you to be late, if anything.”
Under an archway leading to the dinning area, stood a tall, lean, gentle faced woman.
“You never listen to me, why? Don’t you trust me?” She asked with a small smile on her face.
“Don’t go jumping to conclusions now, I only wanted to speak to you a moment.” Replied the house guest with same sort of smile on his face.
“I wanted to ask you about your husband’s ring.”
“There was nothing important about it, nor anything that would concern you.”
“On the contrary, I was curious to learn he had picked it out of a store window, or if you bought it on his behalf.”
“He purchased it as a pair with my own, he picked them both out at Gerard’s.”
“Had you expressed an interest in that pair beforehand? Or were you so perfectly matched that you shared the same taste in jewelry?”
There was a pause during which her face became stern, cold, like day old soup.
He began again, “I normally wouldn’t ask but I need to know. I have to find out how you, as a couple, behaved toward one another. I feel it is necessary for his biography.”
“He picked them out and bought them, but that wasn’t the important part of our relationship. All that you need to know about our relationship is how he was as a person. He was a great man and treated me and everyone else like a great person, no matter how terrible anyone was to him.” At this point, he thought it would be better not to ask anymore questions.

Details

There are details, important, secretive details. Details that prefer to stay unknown, that refuse to be known.
Staying unknown allows them to float about freely, keeping in time with what each mind conjures the pictures it paints with its ambiguity.

Once details are known, the ideal picture that was etched into your consciousness is now scorched and ripped into jagged and misshapen pieces. These pieces of the nonexistent painting portrayed an image you hid behind.

Now the imperfect image you thought was perfect and large enough to hide you can no longer hide you. It lays on the dirty floor next to the grotesquely flawed details you tried to accept as perfect. You accepted them as perfect to justify their protection. By doing so, you hoped to find perfection within yourself. But with the revelation of their true nature, you saw your own.

You saw your lack of symmetry, you saw your weaknesses. You saw yourself as clay that still needs molding. You clean up the pieces of your once perfect cover and hope you can become as perfect as you believed it to be.

I hope you will never reach that perfection. I hope you realize you are perfect as an imperfect being and you will never stop trying to perfect that imperfect nature.