I loved to read the description of this sculptor from the creation’s point of view. It seems while he seeks perfection, it has already found it.
Make Me Beautiful
He wanted to make me beautiful. He made my eyes first. That’s how I could see him make the rest.
The poor God with the bloodshot eyes, kneeling before an empty pedestal. There was a vast shallow pan on the floor beside him, like a squashed bathtub, and remains of halfway abandoned creations littered the floor near its rim. His straw colored hair was my horizon for the first few hours. He smiled down at me and kept working. Slowly, the world gained clarity. Images sharpened an borders defined themselves as he shaped and prodded my eyes into place, coming close enough to kiss me while he carved my irises. Every breath he took washed over my face, and I heard the softly whispered promises on each of them, and smiled unseen. He wanted to make me beautiful.
He molded my lips, my nose, my jaw. He…
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