I remember the fire ...
The smell of smoke in the middle of a cold night outside the house, we don't belong to any place, everything is so transient, the fire is so warm in appropriate measures, at precise times. I had an impulse that until now I could not decipher, maybe I described the smoke's smell to the fire, to fire with blood, I thought so much about the word sacrifice while I saw the cuts in my arms, and I felt the sweat running down my back, instinctively I looked at the sky in search of the moon, of one or another star, there was nothing, it was an absolutely black sky.
It was the night of fire, the universe gave me what I wanted, and I lived throwing reproaches, but not tonight, I was alone, it was perfect. It was the night that the fire gave me to feel safe even at the worst moment, night of the fire, with its smell so warm, the smell of the bonfire of persecuted at rest, with its smoke, its cold and its darkness, with its magic.