The Sculptor

There once was a man
known for his artistic hands
he had a store
at the end of the street
filled with sculptures of
faces he saw, messy and neat

“I was born with it” he says
when asked  window shoppers
about his talent.
But the odd thing was that he never had buyers

His work was very meticulous
from wrinkles to eye color
broad shoulders to favorite shirt
“worn more than once” in one week

He sculpted at night
after visually gathering images all day
he sat there, in his old shop
the one he spent all his savings on
and sculpted the images that were prominent
in his memory

From the crying child in his mother’s arms
to the old couple holding each other’s veiny hands
on the park bench

From the handsome man that stopped
in front of his shop checking his reflection
to the school girl behind him, marveling at
this beautiful creation

He would pick a soundtrack for the night
and sculpt with all his might, with all his freedom
he even talks to them,
“Here let’s make sure your eyes
have the perfect shape”

“Purple is a very nice color on you ma’am”
as he colored a lady’s dress

Yet there was something peculiar about
his statues, regardless of the precise work
that narrowed the details to the “T”

They all had thin elongated cracks
from the head to the feet
they looked like grey lines
that he actually traced

No one asked him and he never said anything
If you ever pass by his store
narrow your vision on one statue
and notice those lines, it’s very odd

One rainy Monday, Hera, a tourist
got lost and stumbled upon his shop
oblivious to anything in this new place
folding the map and planting it in her
back pocket, she marveled at the statues
on the display window

He saw her outside,
messy bun, messy colored backpack
with pins from the would on it
her friendly face was inviting

“Welcome” he said
“Those are really something” she said
as she pointed to their general direction
“Come inside, I’ll show you what I am working on” he said

With bottled curiosity
she forgot the fact that she was lost
she went in, and saw paper thin layered plates
of different shapes
they are scribbles on them

“I didn’t know you designed scrolls as well!”
As she slowly grabbed on and started reading
in her whisper voice

I don’t know where I really am 
I am just walking on the same streets
everyday, and he will never notice

She put that slab down and picked another

I have an exam today
I hope I do good,
I want my parents to be proud” she looked at him
and picked another for the sake of the third being the charm

I can’t believe I love her 
now, so sudden, 
what’s happening to me

“Sir? What are these and
why are they in different shapes and sizes?”

He took those 3 specific thin plate  slabs
and told her to follow him
She hesitated,
but hey, impulsiveness right?
maybe?  

He took her to another room
where 3 statues stood there, almost done
Almost because there was a thin hair line
gap in the center of each one

The first one was of a woman in purple dress
with a cup of coffee in her hand
he slowly and carefully placed the thin plate
in the center, fitting it perfectly

“Ah, the thin lines!!!
They are slabs”

He nodded

“Wait, are your statues made up of
sto…”

“Yes my dear
everyone
is made up
of layers upon
layers
of
a story
that has yet
end”

 

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