imagine.

Imagine the paint falling off the statue of the prince at the town square. What once stood as a symbol of pride, of joy, of love, now worn down with weather, neglect and a constant eyesore. Where people once met and made merry, had long talks, eating lunches at the foot of the statue, now is a sorry sight with only pigeons and crows as friends, picking off stale crumbs that random passers-by happen to drop while walking past.

Now imagine, you are the sculpture. You remember the beaming smiles, laughs, public displays of affection, playfulness that once surrounded you, that gave your being meaning. And you notice, that as time gradually went by, it became less, and less.. and less. You feel yourself go hollow once more, your being slowly fading, your eyes staring blankly into the distance, your smile droop into dullness. And eventually, all you will be is a memory.

Now imagine, you are one of the sculptors. You remember the blood and sweat, all that time you lovingly spent perfecting every curve, every fold, every curl, the days when your sculpture was exclusively yours to behold and love, and the encouragement you had from everyone, as a result of being given the honour to sculpt this iconic piece of art. You remember how you loved to show off what was your defining moment in life - creating it. And now, every time you walk past, you cannot help but wince as the pain of the memory pierces your heart. That once the lustre is lost, it can never be returned. No matter how you do it, it will never be the same.

But no one has tried to restore it to its former glory. No one has yet tried to repaint it, clean it up, fix the chips and cracks. But its alot of work to do, and it takes time. After all, who knows, if given enough effort it might even be improved. The most important thing, is to at least give it a go.

And the decision of the town council remains to be seen: do we destroy the sculpture, or do we not?