The Perfect Crime

What Would Be the Perfect Crime?

If one were to ask this question in the literal sense, I imagine the answers would wander toward shadows, toward schemes so carefully constructed that they leave no trace, witnesses or consequences.

But I find myself uninterested in that kind of perfection because what is a crime, if not a violation? And what is perfection, if it leaves behind harm? So I suppose the better question is not how to commit the perfect crime, but how to imagine one that leaves the world, maybe a lil bit better.

And if I must answer, then mine would be this that I would steal. Oh, definitely not money, or jewels, not anything the world already values too openly but I would steal the invisible things. Those things people carry within them that weigh them down.

I would steal fear from the hearts of those who have known too much of it. That fear that sits in their chests and makes them doubt their own worth. I would steal the loneliness that follows people into crowded rooms where they have no one to talk to and it makes them feel unseen even when they are surrounded.

I would steal the exhaustion that clings to those who have been strong for too long. And then, without recognition, not seeking to be clapped for or an epic written in my honor, I would redistribute something else in its place.

Peace, where there was once anxiety. Warmth too, where there was once emptiness. Hope, where hesitation dwelled. It would be a stealthy operation. No one would even know it had happened, only that something within them would feel lighter.

Now, that is the only kind of perfect crime I could ever imagine. One where nothing is truly taken, yet everything is changed. Because if we must speak of perfection, let it not be in how cleverly we harm, but in how gently we heal. But if that too, is a crime, then I suppose I would commit it, over and over again.

Xoxo💕

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