There was once a man named Pygmalion who was discontent with his life. He felt incomplete, as if one half of a whole. So, in response he created his equal. One with eyes as white as milk. He named her Galatea. Pygmalion thought of her to be perfect. Beautiful, talented, and always there for him. Only one problem. She was not alive.
Like a statue, she could not reciprocate his love for her and so his pining was for nothing. One day, during a festival to the god of love, Pygmalion brought Galatea to the god and asked for one wish, to make his creation and lover as real as he was. Charmed by the man’s devotion, he granted his wish and Galatea finally lived, as he had always dreamed her to be.
The story ends there, but I’ve always wondered whether or not they were happy after that. Did Pygmalion live with her, completely content with Galatea in his life? Or was he dissatisfied with the god’s work? What I’m trying to ask is if Pygmalion loved the idea of Galatea, or her as an individual.
It’s so easy to pine from afar, isn’t it? A painting looks so perfect until you see the nervousness of each brush stroke up close. Objects are the same. We form connections with them because they cannot harm us like people can.

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