How terrible can be to die for love?
In vain so many died for love.
But was this really love?
Is what poets say about love really true?
What really is this irrational feeling?
Is really divine as poets say?
Or is just a matter of biochemistry?
Once they leave, no love remains but only pain.
So are the sisters, in pain.
“The lover would create because he despises.” (Nietzsche)