Atelophobia n. -
the fear of imperfection

She had three broken fingers. A jar full of broken glass mirrors and gumballs sat at her left, a bag of gauze at her right. She snapped her broken fingers back into place while her puzzle piece mind apologized to the grey porcelain figure next to her bathtub. She apologized to herself most of all, her shoulders and her spine, her pale, pale ankles, her goodbye brown hair. She smiled at the peroxide as it melted down the rusted pipes of her sink. She watched the pictures on her wall and touched his signature in the corner of every one. It had been two hours since she had disappeared and an eternity since art had killed him.