The Ecstacy of Imperfection

Elizabeth lay by Jack's side in the soft darkness, pressing herself against his warm body. He was half-asleep, eyes flickering between wakefulness and dream, sometimes glinting with their glimmering internal light, sometimes closed. A contented smile hovered over his lips, making her yearn to kiss him again.

She ran a hand over his bare chest, feeling all the scars under her fingertips. She sat up, looking at him more closely. There were two bullet wounds on the right side of his chest, and at least three sword cuts along his ribs. She looked at his arm, the tattoo of the soaring sparrow on his wrist, just above the pirate brand. He was so perfect, yet so infinitely flawed. She pressed her lips to the brand, trying to erase the old pain with her lips.

Jack's half-open eyes smiled at her. Suddenly, she could feel tears on her cheeks. Why was it Jack who had suffered so much? What could he have done to deserve this? She didn't know, didn't want to know, she only knew one thing; he hadn't deserved it. He was a good man.

Still crying, she kissed one of the bullet wounds on his chest. She loved him, loved him because he knew what life was, because he had suffered. He ran his hand through her hair, pressing her closer to him, and she could feel his breathing become suddenly ragged. Was he crying, too?

The he let he go and gently pushed her away, rolling over, hiding his face from her. She looked at his back. It was scarred too, old lash marks criss-crossing each other, silvery-white on his back, like ghostly fingers of agony.

She kissed his shoulder, loving him all the more, looking at the scars. The old marks of pain were magically beautiful in her eyes, flawed just like his character. Every mark was breathtakingly enchanting. She loved his perfect imperfection.

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