For this piece to be creative, I have to throw it into the unknown. So, I don’t know where my writing is going. I don’t know what the next sentence or the next thought will be. I go voluntarily into the darkness. I venture into a foreign land—a world whose borders are unknown to me. There, forms slip away and only my wakefulness remains, like a lonely light.

I begin to see. This unknown land is dark as a pupil, unfathomable as a gaze. Like a gaze, it has the depth of night. The primordial black hole. Will I encounter benevolence or malice? Still, I have to advance, to face this danger, to make myself vulnerable. A thousand distant stars begin to shine, but I can’t read them.

This gaze—is it your look that reads these lines? Now I sense a presence—a heartbeat. I tremble a little. This encounter is new, like every encounter. The outcome is still unknown. Does not every encounter take place at night? In the middle of the mystery that envelops the world? In it you receive me; in it I receive you. The constellated sky begins to explicate itself. Every encounter is a sojourn in the stars, a conception, a new creation. It seems to me that here, we wrote together.

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