Thread: Time-Crossed Eternity

How can you measure time? Is it something that you check daily on your watch? Something you keep tabs on when you sit there at your desk wondering when your shift will end? Or is it something truly intangible? Something that no one can capture or tame? Is it like a beast that you keep caged but realize that you don't have any control over it as it stares at you with a look of utter destruction? Or is it something soothing like water flowing from a stream heading onto somewhere unknown? Does it follow you or do you follow it? When we first met, we didn't realize time would be our greatest gift. And our worst enemy. The first time I saw her was in a market square in Rome. She was a young girl, maybe thirteen, and I was a young man, barely an adult by society's standards back then. She looked innocent yet upset at something - probably something a brother or father said to her as she went about feeding the livestock that was on sale at her family's stall. She looked dirty and proud. She always looked proud. It was in the set of her shoulders, the way her lips were curved into a line that was both straight yet curved just at the ends, almost as if she wanted to smile but couldn't. In this case, her hair was red like fired up copper. Her eyes were as blue as sapphires. Her skin tanned from hours being outside. No one here was pale unless they were nobles and never worked a day in their life or stayed outside too long. They may not have had callouses on their hands, but they certainly had blood. So did I. I could have spent all day staring at her as she worked, glorifying over her spirit in secret. I felt like a leper just watching her, but I was entranced. She was beautiful. I could have wove poetry like Shakespeare did in his time, or wrote about her like Homer did Odysseus. I may have been educated, but I knew so little. I knew very little. Rome was a much different place back then. There was much to be desired. I worked for my own family. We owned a bakery that was famous in the square. We worked long days and had even shorter nights, but it was worth it every day. And it didn't matter how busy the square got or how quiet, I always watched the Girl in The Square. That was what I called her at first. It wasn't until months later that I learned her name. It still haunts me. We didn't know it yet, but our families were becoming friends and realized my interest in her. Back then you married young or when you were of proper age. Thirteen was considered a bit young, but not always. I didn't want someone that young and so innocent. As much as she was beautiful, she was more like a sister in my mind at that point. Yet I wanted to get to know her. I wasn't much older than her. I was four years her senior. We were both still children. There was still so much that we didn't know. We were sitting at the dinner table in her parents' home. We had two courses and wine, good company. She had two younger sisters - twins - who ran around pretending to be gladiators. They had traces of their sister's red hair that she had inherited from her mother. Her mother had been a slave that had been bought by her father - whom he had freed upon marriage. It was rare that a man loved his slave, much less enough to free and marry her. It almost seemed surreal, but the love was there in their faces. Her mother worked hard. Her father worked hard. She had three older brothers who worked fields during the day and slept most of the night. They had stayed at the table briefly to check if I was good enough for their sister before they were out cold for the night from labor and wine. During conversation, I got a look out of the corner of my eye. It was just a glance, but I saw her look at me. For a second I thought I was mistaken, but then her cheeks bloomed pink with embarrassment at being caught. Or perhaps for simply staring. I couldn't help but feel heat rise in my own cheeks. Her eyes were bewitching. Nicasia, show Silvanus the garden. Her father said, watching her with a small smile. He was a kind man, Aegidius. Kind and stern. Candra, her mother, motioned for both of us to go. It was time for the adults to talk. Nicasia stood, murmuring that she would go before looking at me with those entrancing eyes. I couldn't help but follow as if lovestruck by fate. And I was. Fate held onto me so tightly I'm surprised I didn't feel her claws embedded in my soul. And I wish now more than ever that I had known she would capture Nicasia.