My home is perfectly imperfect.
It is filled with things that are imperfect treasures.
Forgotten junk to someone else, treasures to me.
Items that are now unloved and unwanted by previous owners.
Yard sale items, in need of love.
Waiting to be respectable again.
Lace curtains hang on my windows.
Plates that once held a meal, now have a home on my wall.
Junktiques I call them.
Lovely iron beds, that were thrown out by a previous owner.
These junktiques make their way to my home, where they become my treasures.