The stone said nothing.
A number of clouds passed by, the sun set and the night arrived with an immense bronze-coloured freckled moon with acne scars upon her worn face and in this manner reflected down upon the silent stone which still had not fallen asleep. The flower, by now, had tucked-in her petals and slept profoundly, and at this time the stone began to answer:
"I stay here because your roots have made me yours. I stay here because it is no longer about my feeling the earth rather because I have become part of that which functions as a support of your stem which resists the wind and the rain. Everything changes, my sweet flower," said the stone, "but I stay here because love is that microscopic space between your feet and my salted skin. You would only be able to feel it if destiny were ever to separate the two of us."
The moon followed the fade of the stars. Dawn gave a yawn as the sun began to burn its horizon on the lower lip of the mouth of a new day. The flower awoke and extended her beautiful petals. "Good morning", she said, "I dreamt that you were singing to me. How foolish of me, don't you think?"