They stay there, on each side of a grave. They are weeping the same man, the same lover. One, beautiful as the night, as the moon itself, melts the stars with her passion which turns into a deep, insane grief. The other, cold like a stone, like marble, slowly turns into a statue as seconds fly away. Two ways to cry after a dying love, two ways to love meet near the stone of the same grave...
They both want him to wake up, to live again, even if their hatred will revive again, stronger than ever. But they would gladly be enemies again than face the emptiness that he left when he was gone.
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