I stole the feathers of the mighty Phoenix and placed them on your head – in my mind, a hallowed crown fairly won by a man of high renown. I painted you with an old master’s brush, choosing dramatic and meaningful hues — as such, you became imbued with that particular Renaissance genius.
I went further and designed a lavish statue: inspired from classical antiquity, to bronze I added gilding, gold leaves placed ever so carefully, its artistic quality and sumptuous finish worthy of going back in time to Tuscany and being coveted by a Medici – Lorenzo, probably.
I described you with passionate words, chosen with a writer’s thirst for panache and éclat, made you the hero of epic stories, influenced partly by historical tales and mythology.
Yes, I am – at times – guilty of being a romantic. Crushing disappointments too much to bear, unable to digest the lack of flair, the fabric becomes tarnished and so I can’t help but embellish.
I deliberately blurred, then erased the line between fantasy and reality. Who was I trying to deceive? You and me. Either way, the truth is: I’m sorry, but you’re perfectly ordinary.
Image credit:Marcela Bolivar@deviantart.com