He walks the quarry in silence,
among the rough, raw faces of stone,
and there—hidden in shadow—
a block catches his eye.
It is love at first sight.
He kneels, brushing dust from the surface,
his hands already tracing her curves in his mind.
She is there, waiting for him
to free her from the anonymity of the mountains.
He smiles,
imagining the beauty that will rise from the shapeless hard rock,
her eyes soft with a life she does not yet know.
Days stretch into nights,
and he can not stop.
Chisel after chisel,
the tap of his hammer echoes like a heartbeat,
steady and patient,
each strike bringing her nearer.
The stone yields to his will,
his fingers guiding, shaping,
breathing her into existence one careful touch at a time.
His bones ache, his skin wears thin,
but he does not tire.
He can see her now,
emerging with every fragment that falls away,
her lips, her hands, the delicate arch of her neck
until she stands before him,
the perfect vision he had dreamt.
She is done.
Complete.
He steps back, holding his breath,
staring into the eyes he carved,
and they gaze back at him,
unblinking, silent,
yet so full of everything he longs for.
His heart catches in his chest.
She is not just stone,
not to him.
She is warmth and softness,
a companion, a love he cannot bear to be without.
He whispers to her,
his voice trembling with a strange, tender hope:
"If only you could live.
If only you could step from this cold marble,
breathe, speak,
be mine,
as I have been yours from the moment I found you.
No comments:
Post a Comment