"... and through the years she stood alone, touched by the rising sun, each year gleaming more brilliantly than the last."
I rested my foot on the platform next to the monument. We took months to travel here, to where time froze and nothing has a name.
I've spent the last few days looking at the statue of the lonesome goddess as we made our way up to the pinnacle. The ancient people must have adored her; she stands atop the highest point for miles, casting her sad smile into the ridges and canopy below.
On her right where my feet now rest lay a platform, half a foot in height alike the one she stood on. Several lifetimes of erosion left a mystery to whether anything once stood beside her.
Archeologists have a theory based one key evidence.
"A ring is a terrible thing to see on the fingers of such a beautiful creature."
There was a coating of copper on the ring carved onto her left hand. When the sun shone it gleamed gold and bright - a signal more than a symbol.
I put my other foot onto the platform, raising myself to take in the view. I look left, and noticed the goddess and her gaze.
"It's like she's searching, waiting."
Some things are meant to be hidden from the world, and as much as I wanted to excavate this wonder for my museum, I was stopped cold.
Not by the splendor of the sun against the stone, not by a sense of respect for the ancient people.
As we made our way back to camp and home, I caught myself looking back at her constantly.
Many features on the statue marked it magnificent, but none more than her eyes. They capture me, not allowing me to leave, ripping at my chest and making it hollow.
Till today I think of the lone statue in the lost city and her patient gaze over the land. I imagine myself among the people of the ages, asking around, seeking an answer.
So beautiful, yet alone. So yearning, yet patient. So sad, yet smiling - cast in stone, eternal she stands, in place by her own, where sun rules the land.