Different waters, Pablo and Maria. They don’t pass in the night. They don’t ask permission to board.
But maybe Pablo and maybe Maria, maybe they’ll end up docked in the same harbor one day. Maybe a Hemingway harbor — a harbor that smells like roasted pig and coconuts.
When the big one comes (the big one always comes) and throws them ashore, when it smashes their hulls and exposes their faded underbellies, maybe Pablo and maybe Maria‚ maybe they’ll end up together.
Maybe stranded on a beach for a hundred years. Women will bathe beside them. Children will hide under them. There will be bonfires and proposals and first times and lasts.
And they’ll watch the world while they weather. While they wait for the world to lift them up and sink Pablo and Maria in the sea.