He stands at the corner of the room, waiting. You regard him, as always, as you do all of art. You are captivated by his mystery. This being who, himself, is unaware of how much he is —

Treasured? Desired? You hesitate.

You approach him, every step overwhelming. Achingly. He is unaware of how much you’ve already held back. This unfinished work of art stands before you now, bearing his warmest smile.

With the familiarity of home.

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