Statue

Statue

By M. F. B. Porter

It stood in quiet solitude in the direct center of the vast room.  

I observed it from several yards away, pacing thoughtfully back and forth, eyeing it carefully, as if the huge thing would simply step off it’s mount and saunter off if I approached.  That’s how detailed and life-like it was.  

The lines of it were positively flawless.  Each curve and crevice was exactly as hard and soft as it would be in a perfect dream.  It twisted gorgeously, such emotion in its features.  It made one feel the heaviness of everything and the lightness of nothing all at once.  Your eyes both loved it and we're confused by it.  Enchanted, maybe.  

It seemed to be the focal point of the room, blurring the air around it, and yet, without it, I don’t know that I would’ve realized the air at all.  The room was alight with its effervescent presence, and in that moment, so was I.