All you see is me

If you click on the photo above, you will see a statue of a man and a woman. I purchased it a few years ago as a gift to David, but only understood much later it was not a gift that reflected our relationship, but rather an attempt to convince myself that the man and woman were me and David; romantic, open and together. When we separated, I asked if I could take the statue and he said yes.

The next man I loved commented that the couple reminded him of himself and me; the feeling of love and closeness we shared, even the height difference between us looked the same as that of the two figures. But after this man broke my heart and I returned home, the first thing I did was throw the statue against the wall and watch it smash into a hundred pieces across the floor.

Weeks later I tried to contact the Argentinian sculptress who made the piece, I was convinced if I brought it back into my room, my love would return. I called a shop in Greenwich Village that sold her work, described the statue but was told they didn't carry it. I left my number and asked them to phone me, hoping the artist might be inspired to make another man and woman who embodied the dream of my lover and me. Months later, I received a call from the shop; a shipment from the artist had just come from Argentina and they believed they had what I was looking for.

Below is the statue I saw when I entered the shop. It was a brownish color, not the blue I was accustomed to, and the height of the man and woman was more equal, the man not quite as tall as the one before. And this couple, this couple looked less like me and the man I loved, and more like me and a man I had just met.

But the statue I was replacing the broken one with was not me and my husband, or me and the man I loved, nor was it me and the man who had just come into my life. The statue I bought to replace the shattered one was me, standing beside a symbol of what I want to have someday with someone. And whether he's like that deep, comforting blue that I love, or an unexpected golden brown, whether he's a foot taller or stands on his toes to look me in the eye, I will know, as does she, but until then I remain romantic, open, together with myself and that right there, that's just me.