Solstice

They were blue.

That was my foremost thought when I first saw you that blistering day in the zenith of the summer solstice, Festival for Juno, our patron goddess. Large and luminous, eyes that reminded me of the ocean I have been to in one of my many campaigns in the north, millennia ago, wide and vast, ostensibly stretching its expanse to the far reaches of the earth, like the voracious hunger of the titans.

You would laugh, that particular one that reminded me of the ringing of the bells in the Basilica Aemilia, if you were to hear me spout off such poetic mutterings. I would laugh too, if I still could.

Nevertheless, I saw you then. I could still clearly recall the scene as if it was only yesterday, the rotting stench of Rome's sewers occupying my senses, my sight observing the bristling horde of merchants and civilians, all in a rapid motion as if I could relive those moments all over again. Yet even with the aid of Zarathustra, nothing ever changed. The way I met you, under that scorching heat that summer day, has never been altered. If ever I could go back again, I have always wanted to revise some things, minute details you might not even have thought much of, things that when I look back on make me recoil. Sometimes it amazes me, and at times mortifies, that you could make me forget that we were as old as time, even older than the gods my people once revered.

Did you ever notice that? When I was with you, it felt like I was back on my youth, foolish days of innocence. On second thought, I probably never experienced that which humans call youth or adolescence. Even so, as far back as I could evoke, I am certain that was exactly how I acted around you. Not that it matters, you wouldn't have noticed.

The piazza was teeming with people from all sorts of life, foreigners especially. Maybe some of those foreigners were your companions? I might have seen someone who looked like the maiden's brother and that URTV woman. Ironic that. Fate, I mean. You used to scorn whenever the elders spoke of fate, as if condemning humanity, thunderously ominous. I never understood that; back then, I thought you weak, a divine being fearful of the future? Preposterous. Now that I have had time and history as my ally, as conceited as that may sound, I realize that you were much stronger than anyone, even Yeshua, ever grasped.

The festival begun since the beginning of summer; as praetor and consul I would have remained at the Senate that day, the emperor was very ill, lupus if I can recall, that the usual conference was cancelled, and in a fit of monotony, I decided to loiter in the square. The Augustus had very little time left; it disturbed me for a while, not because I was concerned, he would not be missed even by his own family, however the thought of becoming the next Augustus and the responsibilities it entailed was worrisome. But of course, you knew all that. For a foreigner, who spoke fluent Latin to my surprise, you certainly knew a lot about Rome's politics. I never did ask where those knowledge came from, didn't I? Still, the fact remained that I was always able to converse with you freely, burden you with my problems. For being patient with me, though you could be a little bit exasperated at times too, thank you.

You were beautiful, I can hardly deny that. However, I have had my fair share of beautiful women in my long life as well; my wife was one of those. You did not know of her, she passed away long before I met you. Beloved Vipsania, beautiful, and yet so sad; I probably never gave her the love she deserved; in the time of her youth, she died by drowning. I was not a loving husband, oh I have loved plenty of women, but I was not a loving husband. When I look back on it now, I lament on my failing. I prided myself for being above humans, and yet, there I was - a mere stigma on the life of one human girl. I want to believe that her drowning was a mishap, a result of carelessness, but Vipsania was never careless. Perhaps, that was the reason I never was able to meet her again after all these time. It was possibly for the best, wouldn't you say so?

The square was crowded, not to mention the heat of the day was unbearable. I was about to go back to my villa, and to this moment, I could not fathom what made me look back in that swarm of people. I saw you. Like I said, you were beautiful, but not more so than the women I have bedded. Was it fate? I can almost see you scorn, if you could hear me speak, I am definite you would have.

Your eyes looked as if it has been privy to far too many things; things that have haunted you and brought you joy. They did not look like eyes from someone so young. Without even noticing, I had strolled the way through where you stood. You looked surprised by my sudden arrival. It amuses me now to think about that; you always acted so poised, as if nothing ever alarmed you. It's funny, you know, how time makes memories so very striking, no matter how insignificant they may be.

But who am I deceiving, you were far from insignificant.

Remind me to ask you if we were to meet again just why you amiably stroke a conversation with me. To my embarrassment, I was flustered. I was right in front of you and yet I couldn't speak. How do you begin to tell a stranger that you have known them for a long, long time? My predicament, as you can see, was that I cared far too much for appearances. Then again, what do you expect from someone from the Senate.

You were kind, a little bit impertinent, yes, but you were kind. You held so much hope for humanity that I feared it will break you some day. And it did, one winter day. I could never forget that. I had begged you (and I never beg) and Yeshua to cease your foolishness. I should have known, once you decided on something, no one else can impede you, not even me. Still, I cannot stop thinking what could have been if circumstances were changed. If I had just taken you away from that place by force. I was to be emperor; I had the power to do as I wished. If it had kept you alive, even if it meant denying you your will, no doubt you would have come to abhor me. I, too, wished to save humanity, but I would have chosen you over them any time of the day. As you can see, I am not a kind man.

You loathed the word fate. Despite falling for destiny's hand in your meeting with Yeshua and I, still, I could tell whenever dusks and shadows loomed on your face. I have always burdened you with my problems, but who was it did you unburden yourself with? Was it Yeshua? At the very least, I hope you had found someone you could have shared your sorrows with.

You hated the word fate, yet I could do nothing but cling to that detestable word like a lifeline. Humanity would prevail, that was something you have always adhered to. Fate was something I adhered to, because only with fate, knowing the way we continuously met as history repeated itself in that throng of people, despite the minuscule possibilities of that, I knew that I would see you again. You may not be the same person you once were, however, I am not the same person either. More than Mary and more than Tiberius Nero, we have both become the people we never thought we could transform into, but one thing never changes, and that is my memories of you. Someday, it may not be now, it may take more than the maiden's lifetime even, yet I am certain. Here I am, on the peripheral of the universe's subconscious, I can only wait, and call to mind the recollections you have imprinted on my being, like a framed photograph, a little faded, but very much alive. Like the solstice. Standing still. Waiting.

---

I could still bring to mind the vividness of your eyes – azure, like the sea, like your hair, tarnished with silver now - large and luminous.

Until we meet again, Mary.

-End-