Dante and Virgil, whisps of wind in the storms of reality. Never alive long enough to truly be. Never alive long enough to truly feel. As winds always join the prevailing storm, the two, as loved and cherished as they may have been, inevitably converge into the one they came from. Araby. Araby is real and Araby is alive. Complete. Dante and Virgil formed as two halves, never quite their own individual, fragments of the reality that could potentially be. Their spans were short, a stream split that converges later in the path. Not remembered because they never ended. They did not truly begin. They were parts of the whole that is Araby, who will be known and thought of forever. Woe to you, o Dante and Virgil. The twins of the whole, residing above.