Posted by: Maria Atalanti

Published on: 25/04/2021

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Through the ivory that Pygmalion was sculpting
her human members began to emerge, alabaster, cast, shiny.
The curves of her body, sentient and perfect
made his heart beat.

He put his fingertips on hers,
and caressed her palm.
A stream touched him and noticed, under the pale ivory,
a blue vein beating.

He was encouraged.
He looked at her lips, half-open, sensual.
He took a rose and put it in her hands.
He was sure now; her cheeks became rosy.

He put his hand on her cast hair
and caressed it.
It did not move.
But he saw another blue vein pulsating,
there, on her neck.

He whispered words of love to her,
but she did not respond.
Her eyes were cold, without expression.
She did not have a soul.

He looked at her again.
His heart was clenched with love.
He slowly moved his hands all over her body
and he was shivering.

She looked at him, white, lifeless.
Only her cheeks were palely rosy,

and both the blue veins pulsated weakly.
A statue at the edge of existence and non-existence.

Pygmalion felt it.
Somewhere in the ivory
there was a soul.
He had to release it free.

He blew in her face.
He blew the oxygen of his existence,
on her lips, on her eyes, on her forehead.
He gave her his breath.

Slowly, slowly, she opened her fist
and the rose fell to the ground.
She moved her lips and smiled.
Under her white skin, all the blue veins began to pulsate.

She looked him in the eye
and he saw her soul
to emerge.
He felt her love surrounding him.

Galatea, he whispered,
I chiselled you with my hands.
I blew your breath out of my breath.
I created you with my love.

The human members of Galatea began to bent
and leaned on him tenderly.
The blood circulated in her veins from the breath of his love.
She felt the power and the momentum of existence to possess her.

I am Galatea.
I chose between the static form of immortality,
the human property of mortality.
To be able to love.




For information about the myth of Pygmalion and Galatea, follow the link below:

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