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It was often Willow found herself like this, wandering, alone and at peace. The woods have always been a safe space for her. There was something so familiar and comforting about the tall trees, the sunlight that speckled the ground through the shadow of the leaves above, the earthy smell, everything about it felt like home. People are familiar with their homes, just as Willow was familiar with the forest in her backyard. So why does Willow feel like such a stranger when she pushes through the dense and tall shrubs into a large, expansive… clearing?
In the clearing; at the very center, surrounded by broken and long eroded pillars, stood a huge marble statue. The forest around the clearing was ever wild, but inside… it was neat, and it was groomed to a degree. Not very well or up to standard for where statues would usually be held such as a museum or the backyard of a very rich politician… but it was taken care of. Willow is certain she has never seen this clearing in her life. She’s unbothered, however, if this was an alternate reality a garden was possibly one of the nicer things she could experience. She steps into the clearing, fully entering it, and the world seems to silence. The birds singing, the cicadas humming, even the distant sounds of the neighborhood disappeared in an instant as Willow stepped into the clearing. The only thing she could hear right now was a gentle breeze through the trees surrounding.
Despite her better judgement she goes straight to the sculpted statue, standing in front of it and basking, half expecting the sculpted man to move and speak. Yet he does not. She reminds herself it is a statue. The man contrasted willow in almost every way imaginable, where his skin was a pale white, hers remained as dark as an oak tree. Where he was muscular, she was thin and flabby. His hair was short, and textured, it reminded Willow of those busts of greek scholars. Willow's hair was although long, not as textured nor as neat as this subjects’. She supposes that's because his hair was solid. The big bushy beard that wrapped around his chin matching his hair perfectly. Willow thinks that this man was likely someone of importance, but forgotten by history. Or perhaps he was important within another timeline, another plane of existence. If anything was to be told at how neatly he was kept. Which… was odd now that she thought about it. The pillars around him remained broken, crumbled, barely standing, yet there this magnificent statue stood, untouched, unscathed in all his glory. She pushes up her glasses, reaching out to touch his foot.
“What is your story?”
Her fingers just barely graze his foot and she feels a shiver crawl up her spine, the feeling she can only describe as a sharp sudden jolt of inspiration. The urge to grab her notebook and start to write was hard to repress. Rubbing her fingers on the palm of her hand, Willow cranes her neck up at the statue, pursing her lips. There was an eeriness to the sudden burst of energy, not that she minded being taken out of her writer's block, but it never happened so.. suddenly. Not for Willow at least.
Willow has decided the subject of this statue was a poet, a writer, if anything was to be said about the blessing of inspiration. Maybe she could learn a little more about this man. She reaches out, touching the front part of the statue's leg just above the heel. That familiar tingle runs up her arm and through her body, images and words flash through her mind as she embraces the feeling of peacefulness and inspiration coursing through her.
‘passion, a museum, beauty, an artist painting, connoisseur, a calm lake, eternal’
Opening her eyes, Willow isn’t entirely sure what to think of this man anymore, although she felt like she was left with more questions than answers, she felt drawn to stick around. To accompany him in his garden. It’s been a while since she’s been struck with such motivation anyways, between schoolwork and mental health.. It's been more than difficult to keep her writing to something lighthearted, fun and peaceful. Willows hand trails down onto the base of which the statue stood, this too wasn’t kept nearly as pristine as the statue itself, but in good condition nonetheless. Although every spot looked uncomfortable to sit down on, Willow spots one, a conveniently pristine spot, more than large enough to sit down. She touched the area, making sure it was safe to sit down on. This wasn't exactly a normal garden, she took precautions whether they were needed or not. Rubbing her fingers together she feels nothing out of the ordinary, and so she hops onto the base of the statue, planning to lean onto the statue's calf.
And she does
Her eyes shoot wide open, her breathing has turned heavy, and as she leans against this statue her heart clenches, feeling like it's going to tear her from the inside out. She doubles over so that she's not leaning on the statue but it makes no difference. She’s shaking, her hand clenching at her chest, uncontrollably welling up and starting to sob.
‘Abandoned, her love leaving her, forgotten, the day she lashed out at herself for being so stupid, alone, the look of joy on their faces when she was gone, eternal’
Through the frantic images and memories that plagued her mind she scrambled to find why she was remembering them now. Was this the curse of this place? Was this her punishment for getting so comfortable? She screams uselessly, hands pulling at her hair as she fought the tears in her eyes. The memories, the ones she fought back so hard were coming back to her all at once, and they were starting to morph. Her love's face was warping and distorting into memories she didn't carry. The memories of them together warped to the man in the statue. A comforting shoulder, a kind voice that spoke so beautifully, yet Willow knew these feelings too weren’t hers. She manages to steady her breathing, just enough to grasp what she was feeling and seeing.
‘Fated, a kiss, understanding, a long hug after an argument, comfort, someone to rely on, trust for the untrusting, eternal’
Through her teary eyes, Willow looks back up at the statue before her. An understanding like no other falling upon her.
Grief.
This was a grave, a memorial, the overwhelming feeling of dread clawed at Willow's mind and wanted to sink her in its ocean of sorrow. She stumbled off of the base of the statue, falling onto the garden floor, looking up through the hair that covered her face. The tears slowed down and she took her round glasses off, wiping her face with the arm of her sweater, her eyes red, her ears ringing and she felt like she could puke.
She understood now. She understood how she had no right to be here any longer. This was a sacred place to grieve, and somehow… in some weird twisted way, she didn't feel alone. Literally and emotionally. Looking up to where she had sat earlier… She wonders the type of lover the statue had. She wondered how long it had been that this spirit had been grieving.
She stares at the spot. If this lover could see her, she hopes they know how she empathizes, but she wastes no time any longer, pulling herself together she takes the small travel size notebook in her pocket and she leaves it at the foot of the statue. Author to author, she figures it was an appropriate offering. Tear stained and emotionally recovering, Willow turns around, approaching the part of the clearing she had entered from, now surprisingly… an open path leading out into the rest of the forest. That… wasn't right? She could have sworn the clearing was surrounded by dense bushes and trees.
When Willow looks over her shoulder, the clearing is gone, replaced with the forest she knew.