Beyond our Dani

In one night like so many others, in the dark, when there's no hour for anything at all, a weird sensation of plenitude assaulted me, like the pupil of a cat that gets abnormally dilated before the death.
In the dark.

Maybe the things that really mattered were the simplest ones because... life is simple, although, this doesn't mean that it is just.

I never was right, that's for sure.
Then, I realized that being always wrong came like a great relief in the end.
A strange relief, impersonal, almost redemptive, almost.


In the middle of these disquisitions I noted a gaseous fairy coming in, through the window... 

... her luminous flight was as brief as gracious, and it was fueled by farts

her yellow eyes looked at me from the ceiling, in the dark, and a maxim escaped from her fluorescent lips, as she flew away forever:

"The Hell is not in the details, it is in the almost."





My head stayed laid on the pillow, fixed my eyes in the dark, fixed.

The window still was open, untouched.