This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
WC: 416 words
Genre: Romantic Drama

     There she is again, prompt as ever. Today, unlike others, we’re alone and a warmth rises in my chest at her smile. The tap of her umbrella echos off the walls and the motion splashes tiny droplets of rain on the polished tile floors. As she approaches, I wish to inhale and that my breath could catch. Her deep mocha eyes drink in my form; I stand tall, my arms flexed, and curly hair as perfect as the day of my creation. Chocolate brown curls spill off her shoulders as she tilts her head to face me. Her eyes crinkle as she gazes up at me. The sun breaks through the clouds and the rays that burst through create a soft glow that halos her frame.
     She greets me as she draws near. As she moves nearer, she assures no stranglers witness our exchange. Her silky voice wraps around my consciousness. Smooth tones in honey and sugar greet my waiting ears and they tingle with happiness. Fire blazes through my chest, igniting my need to interact with her. To leave the walls of this place. I’d explore the world with her. I long to break free of these confines and be normal. Words stay trapped behind frozen lips. I am mute in my struggle as my eyes remain blank. As she leans in closer, I see goosebumps form on her forearms and she shivers from the cold emanating off of me. Another wave of heat sweeps through me.
     Dreams of closing the distance between us dance before my eyes. I can only imagine reaching out. Caressing her soft curls. My limbs remain still, stubborn in their refusal to obey a simple command. I am cursed by the circumstance of my design. Yet she visits day after day. In all weather and every season, she stays. With her eye holding tender affection, she whispers words of devotion.
     She is forever unattainable and, though I have no heart, I know what it means to be broken. If my eyes could weep, they would shed tears of frustration and sorrow. However, none of these things are possible. I am trapped in this form, forever forbidden from reaching out to her. I am David, trapped on this pedestal of marble, longing for a touch I can never feel.
      Yet, when she looks at me, I am more than stone. I am more than art. To her, I am David, her David, and in that fleeting moment, I feel almost human