Miss Rock

With anyone daring or caring enough to listen, he shared stories of experiences he had with her, about moments shared and places they went. When we met, he sensed in me someone he could trust. He feared exposing her true identity to anyone lest someone would call the authorities whom he feared would have him committed. Everything he did, she did. Everywhere he went, she went. He could not truly feel lost without her because he never allowed himself to be without her. She was first and foremost above all others, and nothing came before, during, between, or after her. She was part and parcel of everything he was. He always listened and spoke to her, every moment was precious, never wasted. He always carried a beautifully painted rock about the size of a golfball. He had sanded the rock to a very smooth appearance rather soothing to the touch. The rock was not to remind him of her but represented someone to have, to touch, to hold, and to hug. It was not because he had once loved and romanced another human being. No, his life was not one of failed relationships. It was the rock itself, a lifeless entity conceived and born in his own heart. He named the rock 'Miss Rock'. Every night before bed, he would have those last intimate moments with Miss Rock. He sat her on a specially-made table created just for her upon which never sat anything more than a speck of dust which he was careful to always wipe clean every night. Those before-bed moments were most sacred. He never claimed to be deist, atheist, or agnostic, but if there was a goddess, Miss Rock was his, and he worshiped her 24-7. 063020PSCtest, A Contest About A Goddess Or God-Not The God, Caren Krutsinger. 3P