Another day closed on these shelves that have become our world, and nothing has changed. I’ve been standing here for months on end, and she has been standing there for those same months; perhaps longer. A boisterous chatter surrounds me, but it’s nothing that my keepers can listen to. They know nothing of what we are, who we are, only that we are. My kind are idols: collected and cast aside in the same breath, but it’s okay, because she is like me.

The love I have is nothing to most, dangerous to some, but it’s everything to me. It dismantles, destroys, and devestates, but I stand devout, and unmoving against it’s challenges. I’ve destroyed the castings that spawned me, and I have opened a door to a world that something like me can only witness by watching those that move.

You see me as nothing but a doll made of porcelain, standing on this home you have granted me, but I am a living force. I feel as you might feel, but I don’t understand why. Maybe this is what makes us different.

She’s beautiful in her egocentrism, selfishness. It’s what makes her live for her, and maybe she will live a better life than I, standing just to my left. Without the burden of anyone else.

I don’t know if what we have is genuine, and I’m not sure I ever will. What sets us apart is that I know I don’t know.

She is an egocentric doll made of porcelain, and I am that doll standing just to her right. I’ll keep standing here, but I think if she could, she would climb my frame to bring herself higher.