The real wisdom here isn't about overlooking flaws—it's the recognition that love operates in a different category than judgment altogether. When we say someone is perfect to us, we're not claiming they lack imperfection; we're admitting that our affection has reorganized what matters, making their particular way of being exactly what we've come to need. A spouse who is chronically late ceases to be "flawed" and becomes someone whose chaotic energy, infuriatingly familiar, is somehow theirs in a way no punctual stranger could match. Curtis captures something both tender and quietly unsentimental: that perfection isn't an objective state but an emotional geography we enter with another person.