.   .   .

                                                                                            *

The night was within the reach of those who knew how to savor it. The stars, those small planets which exploded so high and so far in the Milky Way, were lights to guide you. The moon, the silvery or invisible, when it left the sky, star, was a smile in the dark. The night was appreciable for those who liked to surround themselves with silence. A silence so heavy that it could be frightening. Where every noise, every whisper sounded like thunder. Assimilated to horror, the night was something to be avoided. At night, where any thing met, where any terror signed pacts, there were some who liked that darkness, that gentleness. Surrounded by silence, it gave a sense of security to those who wanted to be alone. To those who wanted to escape the oppressive and too noisy day. Here it had nothing to do with horror, with quietness. No, here it was not the encounter with the darkness that mattered. What was important, it was those tiny, shiny and white things which illuminated that black background. It was only that that mattered. Even the silvery star did not matter. It was unusual for them to come on this rooftop at night. It was unusual that they stayed so late. However, there were certain days when they needed to wrap themself in the blackness of the night and to stare at the stars shining until it was very late. For them, there was something magical. Something you could never find anywhere else. Looking at the stars was a cliché, but when a cliché became symbolic, you could no longer call a cliché a cliché, because it had become something that was now a part of you. There was not much of a reason they loved looking at the stars. Maybe because there was no meaning or memory behind it. Maybe it was only for the beauty of the show. Maybe it was to search for secrets hidden among the stars. Maybe it was just to stop living and to let their soul float in the air. They did not want to explain this love. They did not want to say any words. They wanted it to remain as divine as the constellations that had been created.

They were not the only one who, every so often, needed to be alone to wrap themself in the night. He used to work very late and not worry about hours that passed so quickly before his eyes. Yet he was not indifferent to the changes of the day. To watch the sun rise or the clouds agglutinate in the sky, so that the sky finally becomes a sheet painted in black. He liked to see the sky change every second, every minute, every hour of a day. It was, for him, like seeing a flower blooming down to the nearest second. He had only met them once during the night and it had surely been the hardest night he had lived. He had wandered through the cold night air and had unconsciously headed for the building where they had come climb on the roof. It was like if a magical thing had brought them together. That night, he hadn't thought of seeing them, yet when he climbed up to the roof he had found them lying in the middle of it, their eyes fixed on the sky. He lay down next to them. He did not say hello to them. He did not need to. Besides, he hadn't wanted to break the silence, this strange atmosphere that always enveloped this place. He had just looked at them for a few seconds before looking up at the sky too.

Like every meeting, they had not spoken. They never wanted to talk. They were not ready yet. Yes, he knew the sound of their voice and their first name, but no, they did not want to say anything else about themself. Not yet. Not now. Yes, they knew that he was right now next to them and it made their heart beat faster, because they wondered what he was doing here and they were dying to ask him the question, but something prevented them from doing it. They trusted him, they had no doubts about it. It was certainly too early to tell, but they felt they could put their trust in him. However, he gave off an aura so powerful that it destabilized them and thus preventing them from talking to him. They were shy and reserved, but they were not with him. Even if all the signs showed the opposite. If only he had known that it was his soul, his aura that paralyzed them and making their relationship so odd and complicated to build. He, on the contrary, was tired of this. He was tired of that constant silence. Tired of that fear they felt that preventing them from confiding in him. He was tired of coming to this roof to meet them and never seeing anything happen. Tired of that longing that crushed his loins every time he was on his way to this place. Tired of the excitement of seeing them day after day. Tired of that disappointment when he couldn't find them sitting on the edge of the roof. Tired of that sadness on his way home. Tired of that frustation they gave to him. He was tired, no one could deny it, yet he could not leave them. He could not leave this place anymore. In addition to thinking about them every moment of his life, this roof had taken an important place in his heart. As if something was happening around them and it was surpassing them both. He'd have liked to rush and incite them to talk to him. He'd have wanted so many things that sometimes he made conversation. He was talking to himself. There were monologues. But he knew that in those moments they listened to him. He never said much. He did not venture into the private ground. He wanted to save those subjects for when they too were ready to confide in him. So often he would talk about his day or he would recite poems, things he had learnt or read. He asked himself questions while giving a brief answer, but only from his point of view. It had happened a couple of times. For the rest of the time, he let the untouched silence stay in its place. So he focused on the scenery around him. Every day he saw details that no one could notice from the street. His eyesight became that of a falcon and every tiny thing had taken a very special turn for him. Every single day, without seeing or noticing it, he formed his memories, so that in the future they would become the happiest periode of his life. He did not realize yet that behind that anger, frustration, longing, tiredness, his mind was creating a world filled with new things that he was living. He was creating a file of knowledge that he did not care about and that he was going to care now. His whole life was changing and that without him seeing a sparkle of change.

Two human beings were in contradiction with each other that night. You had the Great Bear on one hand and the Little Bear on the other hand. There was the extrovert and the introvert. Black and white. Fire and water. You could go on this way until way too late at night to give them contraries to define them. Nevertheless, they were not that different from each other. Maybe it was what you all saw. Maybe it was what they showed to the eyes of their world. But inside, deep inside them, where their souls were, they were not opposites. Yes, they might have wondered a lot about each other, never daring to ask the questions. Yes, silences were tiring and oppressive. Yes, they glanced at each other when the other wasn't looking, because they wanted to make sure that all was fine, that neither presences bothered the other. Yes, they were day and night, the sun and the moon. But it was not that image of difference, of opposite that was important. It was the histories in their hearts. The secrets they hid and that made the two sides of an object fit together perfectly. It was what was inside them, the nature of their souls, of their minds that was most important, because it was what brought them together and made sure that even though the silence was an unpleasant thing for him, it was a good thing for them. It calmed him when this bubble of silence surrournded them, but which made them impatient. That night, opposites had been reserved. Because night was not day, the stars were not clouds, and the sun always made room for the moon. There were things they did not understand and were unlikely to understand, but that night, under the starry sky, in the fresh air of a summer night, unconsciously taking the role of the other one, they had come to know each other a little more.

It was not always enough to talk, to show to know your fellow. Sometimes, the bond was so different, so strange, so magical and deep, that it was not your duty to know each other. It overstepped your prejudicies so much that you never saw anything. That bond was not created by your will, your desire, but because your two spirits were in harmony. They decided for you. They agreed to live the good as well as the bad. It wasn't just God, angels, the devil or any conceivable or religiously historical beings to create a thing that was unexplainable. You were able to create it as well. This was what was happening to them but they just didn't realize it, because they were too clever to believe in it and too clever to give up in front of a something that surpassed them. And yet time was going to help them in this pursuit of the understanding of the Other.

                                          Every now and then, you had to stop existing in order to finally live.