i finally made it! a whole week without cursing. there were many close calls and attempts on trying to make me, but in the end i managed to pull through. so i realized that i shouldn't be cursing so frequently, only to be used in frustration. but then i've been quite frustrated a lot these past few weeks. i don't know why, i hope it's not "depression". haha that would be most terrible. anyways here's a short story i wrote. hope everyone has a good spring break!

the sculptor

it was one of those nights.

those nights when he layed on the floor in the middle of his studio, which was actually his apartment. just laying there and staring blankly at the ceiling, trying to think, trying to do something, anything to get him off the ground. he closed his eyes and tried to sleep, but everytime he did she would be looking at him. and he would wonder the same thing, who was she?

he slowly got up and stood next to a slab of marble. he was a sculptor, and for weeks he had been trying to decide what he should sculpt for his next project. again, he closed his eyes and tried to think, but there she was again. he opened them, and stared at that slab of marble. he never attempted to carve a person before, but perhaps...

gathering his materials, he ever so delicately started at the top and began working on the face. he carved out the long, smooth hair, the delicate eyes, soft lips, a nice nose, the ears, the cheeks, the chin, and the neck. the night grew even later but he continued working, not bothering to take a rest, determined to finish. chiseling away came the slender shape of the body, with its rather graceful stance, the soft look to the skin, the beautiful dress she was wearing.

and so it was finished, and there she stood, lifelike, dreamy, beautiful. he stared at the statue he just barely knew, but began to fall in love with. he started talking to her, and she listened intently. he held her hand, hoping for the warm, soft feel but instead felt the cold, hard stone. still he stood there, holding her hand, looking at those eyes, and talking. despite his nervous state, he told her everything she seemed to want to know, his secrets, wishes, desires, hopes, dreams. and she just listened, and smiled back at him. he started to ask her questions, trying to understand her, to know her, but instead she just smiled that small smile. that small almost sad looking smile.

and so the sculptor, not quite the genius, became frustrated and didn't know what to do, what to say, what to think. he slowly sat back at the ground at her feet, and he slowly drifted to sleep, dreaming the things he wished would come true. he wished he would never wake up. he wished she was happy.