if god uses molds yours would be kept on the top shelf of his favorite cabinet next to the sugar and humility, where nobody too careless could reach it. he would hallow the kitchen before bringing it down and sing hymns while he mixed your ingredients.
i heard from an angel that before god put you into the oven on the middle rack, he coated your skin with honey, so that every creature under the sun would know how much he loves you. i've never heard an angel so jealous.
when you were finished, and carefully placed on the carnelian countertop, it rained for 42 days. i counted. they say none of heavens host could lay their eyes on you and not let down tears of joy.
among god's many self-portraits yours is the most perfect, but i'm sure you don't need me to tell you that when every mirror screams his name.