Without realizing it, it was already behind me, the night.

That night that dyes everything with sadness, that expands, branches out, takes my room as a hostage without scruples.

Raising the floor, breaking the walls in furrows and dropping parts of the roof in the form of ashes.

Nothing stops its passage, where its roots take on the thickness and destructive force that causes the fire and blindness of a red-hot weld.

I sat in a corner hugging my knees and all my life was summed up in thousandths of a second, in a whip of reality, a tourniquet cut the cloud in two, followed by the brightest and perfect light to culminate with the roar of the most of the roaring lions far and wide in the darkened sky.