AllegoryAntony Valegro
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[Image: antony-header.png]
My name
is

Antony Valegro.

A ghost, they call me. I promise you, however, that I exist. I am extant in a state of non-existence, and vice-versa.


I have not eaten in three days. I have counted the sun for three decades, no, seven centuries now. Or is it a thousand? Time has salved it all away. What remains with me always are those endearingly stroked faces of stone. Marble. Wax. Oil. Throughout the ages, unchanged.


I alone am none of these things. I am a mere man, envied by the angels who cannot become as I am.

Angels cannot become men.
Men cannot become angels.

But here, we reach a happy medium between heaven and earth, our fondness divided one to the other. The body and soul push and pull, yet it is inextricable love that binds no matter.

Do I "envy" them? Oh, maybe. Yes. In a way. We want what we cannot have from each other, not now, but because we share our love, it is for them I work and to me they speak, show and tell. Their voices, their sights -- render me a monument. Pure, graceful ecstasy. The rose vines choke me of reply. By candle light, the way is illuminated without any direction at all, and still clear as knells. I cannot attend to them.

Not yet.
Not yet.
Not yet.
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