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The Fine Line between Perfection and Imperfection
Katherine. A name meaning pure or chaste. Regal, with a sophisticated sound of sheer perfection, like a sugary confection. Derived from the Greek name ?????????? and associated with Saint Catherine of Alexandria. A bona fide beauty, born into royalty, but refused to reign; Catherine remained virtuous, even when Emperor Maxentius tortured her. A true sacrifice for Christ, she became his bride; then for him, died as a martyr.
In ways we are similar, but I am no saint. Seven hundred and seventy seven sins have come across these stained lips of mine. Lips which are stained so deeply, they bleed the color of red. A single bead of blood falls from my lips onto the soft, snow surrounding me. Uncontaminated, seemingly untouchable snow, which tempts the adolescent human to caress its clean image. I am a mixture of these two contrasting colors, which shall result in pink. Ink, written across a blank sheet of paper for the very first time. Scribbles fill the page, as some sort of spirituality is spilled and splattered onto the once untainted tarp. In the eyes of a pessimist, this could be described as the depths of darkness; still it contains full fragments of its natural beauty. With time, the beauty fades; as does the pigment. Shades of pride intertwine with humility. I am the canvas, the canvas is me. Body and soul, unavailable for rent; even though I am no longer innocent.
I am otherwise known as “Kat” a name given to me by friends, yet I do not purr as a kitten would. A lioness, whose fur, when captured in the streaming sunlight appears as a glimmering gold. Similar gold specks reflect from my eyes and liquefy as I cry. Though dying for my faith I cannot do. Strong am I, but not as strong as the one who holds my name before me.
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