She lived with a perfectionist, who worked her days off from morning to night. She was a working bee which never failed the queen. Yet, they were known for the works, works which were done by only one bee. She nested late as a company, not for the honey. Who would have known, but herself. None perceived.
Perfectionists were lauded for their works. And, their best friends, they would not dumb it. Thus, they praised, she extolled; however, imperfectionist never did it right. Her lavish praises irritated others. In return, she received a shut-up look.
She did not idolize her works; strength could not find to uphold such burdens. But, wouldn't you want a high achiever? The monster warred within her. Hate not, my dear, hate not.
Dishonest intentions, she did not, but she just wanted to be happy for the person who deserved the credits. She wanted to be happy for her. She deserved the credits.
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