All we wandered through the night across the dark blocks, looking just a corner where the night rest and accepts us all, comprehensive arms, he thought, while sinking in that night, still hearing the screams and moans that the closed door of a coup could not remove.
Everything can be transformed into memories, the same way that all could be forgotten. However, he knew that crying never be erased from your mind, because all the tears were still there in his head, and appeared as soon awoke, and populated his dreams of the most painful ways possible.
And the pain in the hand with which he had beaten was greater now that the anger was gone, and only fault. And he wondered why he continued to do so, and wondered why she forgave him.
The night meant everything, he thought, staring into the darkness without stars.
And, while returning in search of forgiveness many times awarded (but only for a moment of lucidity that erase too fast), he realized that the night did not understand nor accept, I was just accustomed and resigned to seeing the monsters walking through dark streets.
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