SONG: Land of All - Woodkid
People used to call me a storyteller. Somehow I was able to create a string of words that had an emotional heaviness and creativity that people fell for my words. I'm not sure if I still possess it, but I thought I would try.
My life had become darkness. It was lonely for a while, and I didn't know who or what I was. I would wander the streets, hoping to find an answer or a realization. There was always this pull to New York, because of my past. It was a home I didn't know.
On a late Tuesday night, in Prospect Park, I found a seat. Because of the lack of light, I missed the statue beside me. But the next day, my muscle memory led me back to that spot, and I saw it.
I stood in a hidden awe in front of it, and sat on a bench across for it, beside a woman, recreating the scenery in a sketchbook.
We ignored each other, mainly because I was focused on Steve.
He stood in a powerful stance, coated in bronze.
Finally I relaxed, finding peace with finding him. He brought a sense of calm, even if then I didn't know why.
I know now, yet then I just thought it was a legend that was in front of me.
----
Almost every day I returned to this spot, because this face was a faded memory and a form of tranquility.
It expanded to the woman, continuing her drawing of the scene. I enjoyed watching her pencil flow of the paper.
Soon she noticed me watching and tried to ignore me and move so I couldn't see the paper. I felt bad, and went back to just admiring the 13-foot statue in front of me.
----
Over a week later, this repetition ended. As the woman sat beside me, she stopped shading, fixed a few things, took a deep breath, and did her signature.
"Would you like to see it?" She asked as she leaned toward me.
At first I was confused, not expecting a stranger to talk to me.
"I know you've been watching me draw for a while, and I can tell there's something about this place that's special to you, so I wanna make sure I did it justice," she smirked, hoping for a positive response from me.
I simply nodded.
In front of me sat a panorama of the park. It expanded from the bushes to her right, to a profile of me, staring at the statue.
It was incredibly realistic, yet I could tell her style from it.
I admired the work for a while, until I noticed her eyebrows in anticipation for a response.
"It's amazing," was all I could manage then. But more words passed through my mind. Emotional, realistic, a tribute, perfect.
She knows that now.
----
After that day, we sporadically saw each other at the park. She continued to draw, and I continued to find myself in that park.
Every time she finished a piece in that park, she would show me.
And every time, I would only manage a few words. Yet I said it in a way that almost signaled that I was thinking more.
Now, I am aware that this sounds like we are going to fall in love and live a wonderful life together. But, the last time we saw each other was in that park.
----
We sat by each other in front of the statue again, yet she was facing me the whole time that day.
"You know, every piece of art you've shown me I've loved. I just couldn't express it through words," I admitted.
"I understand, sometimes it's personal and almost incomprehensible."
I held a tired smile in response, and relaxed back again. Somehow, only knowing each other for a few weeks, she understood me. Not completely, but more than anyone had in the last few years on my life. Steve is the only person who truly knows me, but this woman somehow knew me without me telling her anything.
That day, before she left, I caught of glance of the art. She was drawing me, profile like the first picture. I wasn't able to recognize myself. I knew it was me, yet it didn't look like me.
I looked like the darkness I was experiencing.
----
The last day I saw her, she wasn't drawing. Instead, she simply sat beside me, admiring the statue in a similar way I did.
We sat together in silence, almost understanding each other.
I'm still not sure what she was thinking. Maybe she was bored, maybe she understood, or maybe she was thinking of me. I don't know.
----
We sat until the sun set, and as she got up, she took her sketchbook out of her bag. I heard a rip and was handed a piece of paper.
"I want you to have this. You have a connection and I want you to have it with you always."
I looked to her, concerned and joyful somehow.
"Don't try to give it back or protest, I feel like you need it." She explained further.
"Thank you," I said quietly, standing up. I hugged her tightly, desperate for comfort. I'm still not sure why I did that.
She returned the affection.
----
As we broke apart, she smiled to me, and picked up her bag and began to walk away.
"Thank you, stranger," I said.
She smiled again, and walked away.
----
To this day, I still have the artwork. It's crumbled and torn in places, but it has the actual art has stayed in tack for the most part.
I think of her everyday, a sort of escape.
I look at the drawing everyday, reminding me of my past.
----
She still remains a stranger.
A/N - Something a little different for me! This is Bucky, writing in a journal is what I imagine. The story is between CATWS and CACW, but the statue of Steve is in the park.
Also, parts are inspired by another fanfiction I've been reading.
Hope you enjoyed!
