Book of the Unmentioned

Statue

You were quite the artifact. It seemed your creators wanted to portray the strong, dependable type. I was intimidated by your old gaze, watching movements, wondering if you'd move. Nobody believed me when I said you were watching.
Every morning, I'd visit you as the first group of people came in to gaze at the wonders of our museum. Yet, when I looked at you then, your eyes were always forward, which confused me. That wasn't the only thing I've seen.
When I go around to clean or polish the other statues, I notice small cracks that look almost...new. They aren't from the era of your creation, just by glancing you could tell someone from this age did it. It frustrates me when other museum facilitators don't take care of the artifacts. Those items are precious, and they need proper care.
                              .            .           .
I think I scared the janitor.
One day, I was pacing around, trying to find a way to cover your cracks. I swear, I saw you watching me, so I grabbed a stool and got close to your face. I studied it with anticipation, just waiting for you to blink. The janitor called out to me, with a look that said it all. She stared for a few more seconds, making sure I knew I looked like a maniac. Then, she continued her duties, saying something underneath her breath while laughing. I could just feel my face turn a shade of red.
As I returned to studying you, I saw your hand. It seemed like something was meant to be there, but it was forcefully removed. I wish I could find something to place there.
                              .            .           .
Today was the day I dreaded. Today they were taking you away. Yet, unlike the past museums, I would treat you with care.
First, I would cover you head to toe with bubble wrap, to protect you on your journey. Next, I would wrap you in cloth, so you could be easily fitted into your box. Then, I would fill the box with foam for you to stay cushioned on your trip to a new home. Finally, I would label your box as fragile, so the next museum knows you aren't something to be carelessly thrown around. You know what? Forget the museums. None of them will understand, but I do.
                              .            .           .
The next day I was announced missing. The police found a statue next to yours, holding your hand. They said your entire head was turned, meeting the other statue's gaze. I don't know how I did it, but I do know it was well worth it.