At night, the buildings in this town appear as if each one is breathing. Lights twinkling beyond the windows, old stone walls that seem to hold their breath in silence. I often sit by the window past midnight, gazing at that scene. When people's activities cease and the whole town falls into a deep slumber, just a few faint lights, in their respective places, tell me that someone's story is still continuing. It's like a silent, unspoken dialogue, and I gently listen to each one. I particularly love the moment when, beyond the long line of rooftops, a sky tinged with a faint orange becomes visible. An ambiguous, yet certain hue, easily overlooked during the day. It feels as if the true essence of this town, and of myself, is hidden within that transition, where the world's boundaries seem to melt together. That must be the true delight of nighttime.
