You are indifferent to the passion you once said was timeless. 'It's regrettable,' you say, in soft words, small shrugs to make Rose understand that things change. "We must move," on you say, Sad smiles, sympathy, and a yearning to leave quickly, barely a backward glance.
"Love is endless," she whispers. Rose grabs your hand. She is unlike any other. Rose, your discarded lover, is un-fixed and fluid, through this universe she rises unseen. Beyond disappointment, and your slow sliding regrets, Rose flies, shifting through the countless perchances, following the trail of the touch of your still loving hand.
She goes where you are different. Same-but-different. She sheds the possibilities, petal potentialities unfold through the oh-so-many versions of you. Rose scatters her mind, her myriad minds, to find a perfect place. Through the continuous multi-verse, call it ten to the ten and ten again, and again, and again, or call it immeasurable. There's no limit to love. In all the worlds of your lives, Rose searches, making and un-creating the same-but-different you, That's why you feel uneasy when Rose lets go of your hand, when she says goodbye for the very last time, You walk away. You fade out of her life.