What the Pool Remembers

I have stood watching you for so much time that moss has started to grow on your toes. You have been still with an unyielding silence, watching your own reflection with adoration for so long that even the forest thinks of you as one of its sacred, unmoving olive trees. You will never notice me, and I remain an echo, watching you from the shadows.

Yet still, I watch you. I watch your dimpled smile and perfect, white teeth. I get lost in the reflection of dazzling blue eyes, paired with tousled auburn hair. Your face is symmetrical, with full eyebrows and sharp cheekbones that almost conceal the slight crookedness of your nose.

You are everything I have imagined and more. I do not think there is a single being on this planet more divine than you, not even the gods themselves. Have Zeus strike me down where I stand, so long as I am allowed to die by loving you.

It doesn’t matter if those indigo eyes look nowhere but the pool, or if your hair is now matted and reaches your waist from sitting so long. I still love your cheekbones, even if they come from your refusal to eat, much like how once-fine muscle has been peeled from the bone.

One day, I will look back while watering the flowers of your namesake, and wonder if there was anything I could’ve done to prevent your demise. But instead, I only repeat your words back to you.

“I should never leave,” you say.

“Never leave,” I unwillingly agree, watching as you wither away before me. As much as I want to drag you away from the cursed pool, I cannot. To pull you away means to take away your happiness, and I love you too much to cause you distress. Even as the ivy has spread to your ankles, I still will only watch you die.

Sometimes, when it is not just us and the other nymphs are being a bother, I choose to get lost in the memories of the first time we met. A hunting bow in your slim hands, and arrows strapped across your muscular back. Your gaze had not yet fallen upon the pool, and you hadn’t been aware of your downfall.

I think you had come there to rest in silence, away from your horde of hunting men. I remember first seeing you and instantly knowing that not even Aphrodite could compare to your beauty. I had to get down and meet you; I had to grace myself with your presence.

Hera’s curse was recent when we met, and I didn’t fully understand its limitations. The other nymphs avoided me after my condemnation, fearing Hera’s wrath as much as I once had. There was nothing more frightening to my companions than silence, just as there was nothing worse to Hera than daring to explain the faults of her husband.

I stepped behind you, yet was unable to greet you. I remember purposely stepping on a branch to get your attention. You whipped around, and I saw those sapphire eyes for the first time. The only time I was ever able to look directly into them.

You smiled that dimpled smile and spoke, “Hello. I am Narcissus, son of Cephissus and Liriope. What is your name, my beautiful maiden?”

I giggled at your charisma, yet was only able to echo back, “Beautiful maiden.”

You frowned slightly before repeating, “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” I replied, and I felt my heart splinter as your expression turned frustrated.

“While you are wildly enchanting, I do not care for your manner,” you said, taking off your bow and sitting down on one of the rocks by the pool.

“Your manner,” I said. The words I desired caught in my throat like birds—endlessly beating their wings against my teeth.

You frowned once more, “Yes, I would be tempted to court you right now if you stopped. Your ceaseless repetition would trouble my peace. I would need you to please me and make me happy, maybe then, one day, I could love you,” you said.

“One day, I could love you,” I said, enthralled with the idea that I was a possibility for him.

You laughed, running a hand through your once-tamed golden locks. “Yes.” You crouched down by the pool. “Ponder that, as I kneel to drink.”

Then, you looked into the pool—the way a doe might look upon your bow—and in that silence, your fate was sealed. I swore I could hear Nemesis laughing cruelly in the winds.

As time passed, I had begun to think of the pond as a sort of monster. When the draft surged and its waters lapped against the rocks, it reminded me of vicious laughter; it mocked my heartbreak and your demise.

Since then, other nymphs have come and gone—enamoured by you, but giving up hope once they realized you wouldn’t look away. I am still here, and I never plan to leave. I will remain with you until the end of time, watching over you as you grow old and wither away.

I would watch you even if the remains of the very Earth began to crumble. I would not so much as dare leave your side at the sheer possibility of you seeing me.

I do not think that you will be able to grow old. I do not believe you will ever leave your reflection. Eventually, the hunger will consume you, and already the roots are at your knees. There is dirt beneath your once pristine fingernails, and your eyes are hollowed and withered.

As summers pass, you don’t bother to swat the flies away, so I do that for you. The only emotion you show is the ripple of grief when a drop of sweat shatters your reflection. As the seasons turn and autumn arrives, I clear the fallen leaves from the basin so you may smile at your replica in peace. When winter comes, you love the pink that appears on your nose and cheeks. We both still remain enamoured with your image, even as your fingers turn black with frost.

One day, the moss will creep over your lips, silencing you forever. The ivy will devour your life just as you have devoured mine. Even with your dying breath, you will not turn away; you will die by your own volition, swallowed by your own ego.

I am only ever able to observe you from the shadows, ever an echo, hurting as you never notice me. I will watch your body turn into a flower, and I will watch over your soil and water your land for eternity. One day, only the flowers and the pool will remain, and your beauty will be forgotten by all.

It’s what love is, after all.