We are sitting side to side, we are talking.
In another corner in time, Anthony and Cleopatra spoke as their ships were avenging each other in the northern east part of the Mediterranean.
“I thought you have stopped loving me”
“Stopped! Loving, my dear, is incapable of stopping itself; it is a snowball rolling down a slope; only capable of gaining dimension”
“But love can transform, into hate, rage, disgust, or wane into indifference”
“Incorrect; if it becomes indifference, then it had never been love at all, the other forms of emotion are still love, only fighting and reclaiming its root and primal shape. Love is like time, always present, always the same”
The flames from the last ship quenched into the sea.
The waves gained back their luster and moved along rubbing each other with everlasting love.
“Now, we can go home Cleo, let us go my love”
Cleo’s waist filled the curve of his right arm, his fingers gently, hugged her side, her left cheek reluctantly fell on his right shoulder, his neck bent slightly hugging her head, and off they walked.