Moonlit

Here's to a moonlit epistle...

The Moon was so beautiful that the ocean held up a mirror.
~Ani DiFranco

Night, drunk in her juvenescence, danced her way through the eventide. The wind had blown through the long evening, and maybe took the colors of sunset away with it as it went. The horizon melted into the darkness, and looked ominous to the viewer.

 On such an eerie night, she stood there, weaving the newborn rays of moonlight.

The rays looked like threads as they filtered through the canopy above her head. Her pale, slender hands passed through them, caressing them ever so slightly before they slipped onto the flowing robes she was adorned in. Her face hid behind carefully sculpted tresses of dark hair. She closed her eyes as if to add to the beauty of the scene. A simulacrum of feminine beauty adorned in moonlight and shaded by Myrtle trees stood there.

‘And I had been her sculptor! Forever shall they remember the name of Pygmalion, the greatest of sculptors! No man shall ever be able to fathom if my creation breathes or not, such is its beauty… For sure, such beauty is enough to breathe life into what is lifeless.’ He brooded, looking at his Galatea… His creation as white as milk…

‘Still, why does her face draw me towards her? As if I want her eyes to open, for her to talk…What is the secret of this power she holds over me?’ he brushed some leaves off of her shoulders as he continued his reverie.

‘But alas! Never shall my Galatea speak to me, for she is a mere statue in the cloak of perfection!’

He moved closer to her, and held her hand.

‘Oh, how her face looks! As if woven from moonlight! Oh, you moonlit perfection…What a shame, a shame indeed! Oh, Selene! My beautiful Galatea!’ He dropped his chisel next to her feet, and sank to the floor, overcome with love for the inanimate woman.

“Come to life, can you?” he said aloud at last, his emotions taking the better of him. He lay supine at the statue’s feet, breaking into tears. His tears were illuminated by the light reflected from Galatea’s robes. “Oh, my love is doomed…”

“Love, you say?” the statue unfroze itself as it came to life and the tassel of her robes swept over Pygmalion’s waiting eyes.

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