Eron knew that there was something different about her.

Not different in a strange, or bizarre way.  But different in the way that one feels upon encountering something previously unexperienced, though nonetheless, deeply stirring.

This feeling of different, he could liken to many of his experiences.  This feeling was how he felt when he laid first laid eyes on the painting at the nearby gallery, where his friend Renault worked as curator.  At the base of this painting was an ominous gray and black monolith, with a subtle flash of yellow at its apex, flanked by midnight-black, gnarled trees.  The tower jutted towards a hurricane-like, expansive, crimson, peach, and orange sky, at the eye of which, was a glowing, mellow moon.  The dark tower and trees at the base made him feel a tinge of trepidation, but the hopefulness of the brightly colored sky eased the anxious feeling, and filled him with excitement.

It reminded him of attending an orchestral performance at the local theatre.  He remembered the soaring, anthemic songs that propelled the symphony. And he fondly recalled the subtle, slower tempo, change-in-direction, notes that signified the melancholy break in the bombastic whole, and the few brief minutes of different, that moved his soul.

His first visit to the exotic restaurant that opened across town, presented him with the opportunity to feel that sensation of different.  The dish that his close friend, Zack, had insisted that they order, brought that feeling to the forefront.  The blend of intriguing, yet not quite familiar flavors, coupled with the buttery, sweet flavor of the unidentified meat that fell apart in his mouth, bursting upon his palate with warm juices and delicious spices, causing his eyes to widen with exuberance was a perfect example of this different, that he felt.

Then she spoke to him.  And different, was replaced by adoration.

At first, they were an incomplete, unpolished entity.  They had previously been beautiful solo shapes, but when they decided to come together, what they became, was a shape that was initially, not quite identifiable.

Their union, created a formidable structure, as the intensity of their feelings for each fused them together .  They were solid, resolute, and, completely without polish, or accent, like a giant block of ice.

At the onset of their relationship, they set to their block with rudimentary tools.

The chiseled and they sawed.  They bashed and they hammered. They cut and they drilled. They took out large chunks and small.  And in time, like a clay  modeller who makes an undetailed simulacrum of his final product, they had a very raw approximation of the sculpture of their relationship.

Then, they chipped and they brushed.  They sanded and they polished.  They scrapped and they rubbed.  They took out diamond sized pieces at a time, and buffed down sections, a millimeter at a time.  They smoothed the slightly rough edges, and the blew off lingering shavings.

They admired their beautiful sculpture.

It was perfect.

They decided to display their sculpture.  When they did, they saw others nearby with similar ice constructs.  They decided to take a closer look at what was on display.

There were sculptures in various degrees of completion.  They saw large, unpolished, and unaffected, blocks, causing them to think about those involved with their genesis.  They saw some raw, but in progress, works, that caused them to ruminate on whence they had come.  They saw others that made them gape and awe, making them wonder how their own sculpture compared.

They turned to their own ice carving.

But the temperature had risen.

The overall integrity was still present, but the subtle details on which they had worked so hard, appeared less precise.  Transubstantiation occurred, and the sharp lines, and polished curves began to bead with droplets of water.   Soon, the droplets found their way to the ground; small chunks of their sculpture began to break off from the whole.  Gradually, their facsimile melted, and shrunk before their eyes. Eventually, naught was left but a few solid chunks that clung resiliently to their state of matter, around which the remaining liquid pooled, then slowly dripped towards the rusty grate over the nearby sewers.

Eron felt quite differently than he had before.

Humbly yours,

J