There are some nights when the stars come down low. When the moon melts and soaks your soul. There are some nights when everything hums a tune. Even the stones. And the dry branches.
On these nights, your loneliness prefers to remember you. And it comes uninvited. Without even knocking on the door to ask if you accept visitors. Without even holding, the ungracious one, a single little flower. Not even a sweet treat to perhaps deceive you.
It settles in your soul and provocatively lights its little cigarette. “So, where were we?” it says to you with all its audacity, looking you straight in the eyes.
These are the nights when the stars come down low. When the moon melts. When everything hums a tune. Ultimately, these are the nights when you clearly see the color of loneliness' eyes. Exactly the same as the ashes from dreams.
[Excerpt from the text on the back cover of the edition]
