How am I and how are we unified, the faces we produced and the clothing we prepare coagulate with our desire to work, to function together through our internal and external dances we unknowingly choreograph. and that it.. Perfection, you spit that world. Vial almost, perfection in my own skin, perfection laced in the the toothbrush I perpetually use. You can open the blinds now, pry open your youthfully eyes and see that the only thing perfect is our dreams. There intimate, there yours, you own them. You can fulfill these dreams, but once you do, they glaze the external world outside of your child hood bedroom walls. I bid you good luck.