Yes, I know if a man is killed by way of noose, he was 'hanged'. But this means someone or something high up on a pedestal. This is a compliment.

On the first day, the gods sculpted. They made you out of alabaster, white marble. You weren't perfect by any means. But that's okay.

On the second day, the gods painted. Filled in your eyes with stormclouds and asked the raven to generously donate some of his feathers so that you could have hair.

On the third day, the gods sang. They hummed lullabies and added their voices to the drumbeat of the new-born earth. You heard it all, and absorbed it. Music bubbled in your blood.

On the fourth day, the gods showed you the sunset. The oranges and pinks and tropical warmth burst into a shower of butterflies that tickled your skin. You loved color.

On the fifth day, the gods danced. Each muscle moved with precision and the grace of ethereal felines. They invited you to join them, and you did...all of you, dancing wildly to the accompaniment of animals and flowers and wind.

On the sixth day, the gods hung the stars and moon in your soul. They gave you compassion and a love for beauty and a kindness beyond your years.

On the seventh day, the gods rested. They reclined among the clouds and watched, smiling, as I met you.

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