"Think about it, turn around, and go back to where it all began," he said over the drink and sunset. Sunsets echo over water and show the ways that all men think in the depths of what they feel. They are honest and let us know that what we are meant to know, yet some of us just don't feel them.
"It began today and yeterday and the day before and tomorrow, yet never will it all begin," was her cryptic message of forgiveness. Condolences aside, she was not a very good person. In all that she ever felt, she never felt the joy she felt today. Unclean, unclean, unclean was her soul, and she knew it. It was her course to turn everyone as unclean as she herself felt. She felt clean.
"So hard for me to begin this way," he said as he sipped his martini. "In all likelihood I'll never know exactly what she's thinking," he thought in that brain that was always working, and it puzzled her, this man, she was yet unable to figure out. Sitting across the table, she smiled at him, and cast the pearls of her wisdom aside into the ocean that splashed the shores of her soul.
Casualties of knowledge they both were, and so they parted, each finding his or her own way home. Homeless and ignored, adored and scorned in the hearts of many, poor, ignorant souls. Each leaving the other alone, they hardly ever interact.
Screaming in bed that night alone, she wakes and senses that someone is near. No one is ever near. The lights that enter the closed window tell her nothing as she shivers in fright. "Tell me what to do and I will do it, just leave me alone and go away."
She knows he is there, but she never sees. His body draped across the balcony railing, not knowing whether he is alive or dead, he stands up and jumps, and that was the end of that love affair.