Day passes

Ignacio Escañuela Romana

Absurdly, day passes and night follows, and up there the sun turns into stars. He dreams of variegated and imperfect worlds, he does not understand the immortality that would be the continuity of this perpetual fading to black, which provokes the most disturbing despair. Perhaps that is why the finite is familiar to him, although the fear is never extinguished. Bewildered by the constant rhythm and repeated experiences, he takes a deep breath and whistles a song from his youth.

He was still imagining, yes, but in times not lost to strange plateaus of desperate selves. No matter, he says to himself, time is stretched between yesterday and tomorrow, and in this very instant all eternity is condensed into soft, grey, sad clouds that run in howling whistles from the sea towards death.