Whispers of Midas: Love Carved in Stone

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"Embrace your pain, gather it into a single stone, and... if you feel like you're dying... hold on a bit longer, so you can witness your miracle!"

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      A hug can blind you so much that all you can do is feel the ground slipping away from beneath your feet... and you need it so much. You stop, you no longer struggle, you just feel... and it feels damn good. When she hugged him for the last time, he stopped running from himself, stopped questioning so much, stopped hoping that he would die one day... and began to desire life... he began to see only her, every moment, every day... and rejoiced in the miracle that had happened to him. But... the miracle wasn't going to last very long... The pain of the past was following him and it was going to catch up because, when you lay your tears in your palms, you can't wipe them away as they become imprinted. You feel them screaming for you to do something, but you can't do anything except take your chisel and start deepening your wounds into stone. And it hurts because, though the heart is dead, it pulsates with guilt, it pulsates with helplessness and the desire to live through the stone you are shaping. And he began to shape her, to probe every nook and cranny of her soul, to shatter her exterior until he left her inner self empty. But his beginning was different..

   Betrayed so many times by the god of love, he lived his age of loneliness in a room that seemed quite empty... and yet in it was the shadow of the one who, in every joint, tried to conquer his fear of solitude. A him so barren of words, drained of life, yet with deep roots in the hope that perhaps one day someone would unlock the door to his heart and delve into his body so deeply that they would become one. Day after day, night after night, moment after moment... and silence after silence. He wished for everything he touched to become his... but he didn't know that this desire would become his curse.

      He was like an unfinished novel, with pages full of mystery and unspoken promises to himself. His hair, a unique blend of piercing darkness and a white akin to untouched snow, retained a chronology of his experiences—each white strand being a memory etched in the fabric of time, with little sparks of youth left behind. Every gaze of his would stay imprinted in the deepest memories of your mind. A brilliant green, reminiscent of fresh spring leaves after a nourishing rain... yet, deep within that green, he held shades of brown, the rich hue of ancient and wise wood from a centuries-old tree. His gaze was something else, a window into time, full of unbridled passions and hidden dreams. His gestures, brief yet encompassing: the way he rolled his cigarette, the way he lit it and forgot about it because millions of thoughts had already invaded his mind... and the cigarette would go out, forcing him to relight it. Though seemingly chaotic, his movements appeared to dance to hidden rhythms, but behind the calm and sobriety he displayed, there was a storm of feelings and thoughts, waiting to be discovered by someone brave enough to look beyond the mask he wore. To uncover him with his fears, his anxieties, his unbridled obsessions, and to love him for who he truly was. But time was not his friend, and he knew it. However, among billions of searches, he found "her". That raw, uncut stone, trapped amidst the millions of thoughts haunting her. He spoke to her beautifully. His words were his chisel, and slowly he began to shape her. And, oh, how beautiful she was! He embraced his pain and found it in "her", the stone without which he now couldn't see his future. That's what you can do when you take a boulder—you polish it so much that you end up with a heart as small as a flea, uncertain if the outcome is good or bad. Yet, he had that power, to breathe life into anything he touched... or at least, he believed so!

   "She," the stone in which he saw his fate for the first time. Her skin, once resembling an uneven rock, now, under his chisel, shone like polished marble under moonlight rays. Her eyes, which once reflected confusion and uncertainty, now began to show their true brilliance, as now they only conveyed courage and confidence, rivaling the shine of the most precious gems. Her mouth began to take shape, her lips no longer hidden in a sad smile but blooming like a chrysanthemum. And he began to love life again. Her body, clad in white robes, seemed like a dream turned into reality. And she came alive under his hands, under his gaze, under his words.

      He sought love in a thousand beds, in a thousand rooms, yet his true love lay in his hands, in the chisel, in words invisibly painted on the walls of his room. And She now stood before him, sensitive, loving him so deeply. Time passed, and He, the modern Pygmalion, did not realize that he was in fact a lost Midas. His love, mud mixed with water, salt, sugar, and tears shed from his brow. He created Her and gave her an angelic form. And he breathed life into her, for that's what she felt. And he was happy... but everything vanished one night when he could no longer see the brilliance of his creation... could no longer see the beauty beyond the sadness. Demons began to cloud his nights as she slept before him. And he began to cry night after night, realizing that perfect love does not exist, and that everyone has a past, and hers was shadowed. He started hiding things he feared from her, and she believed everything was perfect until one day she didn't know who she was without him, and he could see himself without her. He started yelling, hurling harsh words, words that wounded her, yet she remained there, frozen like the statue. In fact, to him, she was just a creation and that was it. The pure stone, now tainted, altered by the chisel, realized that in fact, beauty was greater when it was still a mystery. The white dress became her shroud, and the bed where she fell asleep slowly became her tomb.

      Then... catharsis arrived... From that rich paradise of love, only the hell of torment remained... he weeping for perfection, for a clean past, while she desperately sought only moments of pure love, and ways to make him stay. Until it was no longer possible... He chose to leave...

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"Dear You,

      The one who was my beginning in a chasm called the end, the one who lit up my nights like fireflies. I believed myself to be Pygmalion, crafting you from dry stone, from nothing, and yet you became you – bursting with enthusiasm, radiant with happiness. I've taken you apart so many times, only to stitch you back together, trying to hide your scars. I gave you my rib but withheld my belief, wanting you to create your own, and in this, I erred. I have failed in front of you so many times... but you too are not without sin. I've not seen miracles that end with "I love you," yet our story culminates in a bittersweet "I hate you." You are neither my Galatea nor my great love.

   My gold – which has now become a bitter poison, turning everything it touches into pain. But even though I fashioned you from my own imagination, you evolved into your own being. Perhaps that was the greatest gift I gave you – the freedom to be yourself.

   I tried to make you my perfect sculpture, but in pursuit of perfection, I forgot to see you, to appreciate you as you are. With scars and flaws, yet real, alive, and full of emotion. I lost sight of the fact that love isn't about creating or molding, but accepting and growing together.In the end, I'm unsure if either of us was wrong or right. What I know is that we lived, we felt, and in some way, we learned our lessons. I step back now, with regrets, with hopes, but above all, with respect for you, who remains in the aftermath.

   I am a modern-day Midas who instead of turning everything to gold, merely steals its shine. In front of you, I was strong, but gradually, I became vulnerable, and you saw my tears... You saw my empty soul and the wounds I've tried hiding from others. In your embrace, the Midas in me was powerless; every "I love you" you whispered became the antidote that prevented my gift from stealing the light.I was in a perpetual battle with myself, wanting to shield you from my devastating force, while yearning to have you by my side. A perpetual contradiction between the desire to love and the fear of destruction.There were times I felt overwhelmed with fear, the responsibility I had towards you, knowing my capabilities. Yet, in your eyes, I always found understanding and acceptance.

   There were moments I wanted to flee, distance myself, protect you from me, but you held me close, reminding me that in your heart, I was just a man, not a modern-day Midas.So, in the end, I leave you with this thought: even though I was a Midas stealing the glow, you were the light transforming everything around me. I step back heavy-hearted, but with the conviction of having had the privilege to know and feel you, albeit for a brief time. You were my reality in a world full of illusions. For that, I thank you, but now it's time for me to go...You provided a perspective I seldom had the chance to see: that sometimes the powers we consider a gift can, in fact, be a curse. I no longer wish to be Midas, to keep robbing the light and suffocating everything I touch. I realize now, in my endless desire for control, I lost the essence of what it means to truly live, to love and be loved in return.You were a beacon of hope in the universe of my darkness and solitude. While I wanted to keep you close, treasure you, I recognize the real gift is to let you breathe, live, and shine, without me being the shadow holding you back.

   Now, I choose to pull back my hands, to let you break free from the touch that has bound you for so long. Maybe I can't ever change my essence, but I can choose not to hold you captive beside me. I yearn to feel your embrace once more, touch your skin, but I can't because I've hurt you enough. 

However, know this - I will forever be yours.

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