The statue was dark and broad
The sparse beginnings of a beard etched onto his strong face
He was in a sitting position, face turned away from me
The sun was beginning to set and met his eyes like the artist had planned it
His eyes were blue and lit up like forest fires so bright I lost my breath
His lips were still but looked like they might just twitch from their small half smile/ half grimace at any second
He had dark, gentle curls that twisted every which way like hallways on his head
And crowned the top of his ears, which the summer had made pink
His strong arms were bare and a little paler, I traced their shape over and over with my fingers
His hands and long thick fingers were wrapped around his left knee, as if in pain
He was, but he would never tell me so
The statue was perfect, still and full of life
Silent, making my heart pound so vulnerably loud I was afraid he would hear it
He must have, because he turned his face towards me and I could see my warped reflection in his eyes that shone like fire, and I could feel my stomach tighten and my breathing quicken and my hands make fists
And he looked at me for a moment before chuckling and asking "What are you looking at?"
I laughed, the irony lost on him and I never told him
He just took his hand from his knee, and slowly stroked my face from temple to jaw, smile widening and eyes brightening and he kissed me, lips warm
My statue, my little masterpiece