Imperfect i Imperfect i is an entity, is a mystery. Ii is everyone, everything. Imperfect i comes from every crack in the universe, but goes nowhere. Ii is that rough surface that can never be made smooth, no matter how much effort is made to conform it. Imperfect i is that microscopic spot on an all white canvas which somehow pulls everything towards it. Imperfect i is that painting that hangs crookedly on the museum wall. Ii is the Mona Lisa smile. Imperfect I can't be changed or altered in any way, nor does it want, or need to be. Imperfect i just is. And it's beauty is both confounding and blinding. But most of all, it is for ever.