Statue
Disclaimer: All characters and locations herein are the property of Tamora Pierce. Plot and actual written words owned by me.He is so perfect, to me. I can see him, sometimes, when the longing is too much, between the showers of fists and the angry curses. When I long for him he's almost there, but not quite. There's this image of him etched in my mind, of how he's always been -- so perfect, so faraway. My best friend. So cold to me, even on the best of days. My…
That's why I never said anything. Alive, he was too distant, too good for me, even just to be my friend. I didn't measure up. But now, when I see him, I see only a statue of what he was. Cold marble, unyielding and unsatisfying. If I say it doesn't do the living man justice, why does it sound so much like my recollection of him?
Maybe I'm biased. Maybe my vision was tainted by my own imperfection, the impurity in me not allowing me to get close enough to feel his warmth. I wanted to fly close to the sun, and yet I didn't even have wings. Still, the statue of him in my mind can evoke no feeling stronger than summoning a memory of the love I felt for my best friend, my idol.
One step below a god. I know it's not true, in my mind, but my heart screams it, and after the ordeal I have had I'm far too weak to object. Let it rule me. Hiding it can't save me anymore, now that my love is dead.