Statues

You knocked on the cement I built to keep out pain. I pushed you away because I was already blanketed in sorrow. I wanted to die because I was more empty than I had ever been before. I was nothing more than a carved figure of rock and stone with all hollowness I felt filled with the darkest of concrete.

But you knocked on the cement and hardened plaster. You persisted with innocent intentions, but I didn't want anymore visitors.

All I had ever had were hollow visitors who gave empty promises of staying, and ended up leaving after getting their fill. They chipped at me without care of the "Do Not Touch" signs and took pieces of me away under the noses of the guards who seemed to have their eyes closed.

Maybe I pushed them away. Maybe I was too clingy, too demanding, too honest, too whatever. Maybe I wasn't want they wanted. Maybe I was just to pass the time. I was always there for everybody else. I guess it was too much to ask for the same in return.

The museum ended up closing my section off years ago because the darkness of the broken ceiling lights and heart wrenching atmosphere sucked all the life out of the souls who dared to enter.

But there you were, the most persistent visitor I ever had. You snuck away from your own museum section and walked bravely through the dark corridors to mine because you could relate to the pain I was suffering. You gave me only kind words with no demand for returns.

You knocked and knocked on the sculptured layers that I had built to protect myself until I finally was brave enough to break down a section of cement myself.

I didn't know why I had such a calling to you, but you made tearing down my walls so easy. You made trust easy again. You filled my life with such light that the museum set a date for a grand reopening for my section of the museum.

From the beginning I knew you were special to me. Just making your way to the shutdown section that had turned all others away gave you an upper hand, but I had no idea you would be my whole life and my whole future.

And I had no idea that you would be the one holding me up while I glued and mended myself back together. There are times when I get a little shaky and you can barely hold me up, but you try your best.

Even if I do crumble through your fingers, you are there to help me build myself up again. My craftsman, my support, my love.

Whenever I crumble and rebuild, you do not try to engineer a new design. You let me piece myself together the way I was intended. You try to keep me strong but you do not alter any part of me.

You tell me that I am perfect and should not allow you in my life because you do not deserve me. You, as well, had built the plaster around you and crumble at times. We suffer from the same foundation issues. Yet I am somehow of higher value than you? No.

Over time I have grown more stable and secure in my own foundation and the museum has blessed my section with kindness. After strength had entered my soul I realized that I supported you too. But I did not notice because I was so focused on my own healing, while you were more selfless and focused on mine.

You are able to mend and glue yourself just as I am. You only need support like I do. You are a statuesque design that is unique to its own, who has no lesser value than any other work of art. There are works of art that are missing whole chunks of themselves that still have the grandeur of a whole piece. They are not of lesser value only because storage and foundational issues were not kind to them. Same as to you who only has cracks and scuffs and small scars just as I do. It is those unique markings that make us so valuable because it shows where we've been and where we've come from.

We both have a long way to go before we are able to stand on our own, but I'm glad I can rely on my persistent visitor of innocent intentions until the museum shuts its doors forever.