When I thought it was an imperfect latte art, it seemed to me as a broken piece.
When I thought it was an imperfect latte art and I loved it nonetheless, I now see it as a flower that has not been utterly bloomed yet. I just love it.
I know that I know that I know, every art is made of a person’s being. Your art shows who you are. Like wise, mine. My latte arts show how uncommon I am amongst other Baristas because I can never make straight line.
I love me. I love my imperfection and I think that is what makes me perfect. I have scars, muscles and many more things that make me uncommon amongst other women. I struggled at first to accept myself that way. But it was a good struggle because it built in me such confidence and self esteem that I feel unbreakable, through, of course some painful experiences.
I love me. I love my imperfection and no thing and no one could add any more or less of such love of being me.