AT THE EDGE OF THE TIME

        To wander in the loneliness of the night, in an unknown city where everything is new and old at the same time, under the misty lights of the street lamps, which can be cruel, mild or indifferent to the eyes meeting them...

         That night, a white outline could be seen wandering on the streets under the sad shadow of the palmtrees, getting longer on the pavement in the unclear light... a shadow softly sliding away,  under the surprised eyes looking behind for a moment, when feeling touched by a discrete perfume of lily of the valley.
        The shadow knew nothing about hours, she was just moving on, looking the ink-like blue of the sky which was going to tell  her the time, when it was going to get pale in the dawn...
        ...and the traces  were adding again and again, over the same or over other ones, in invisible layers of characters that had left the print of their passing at the melancoholic shore where the boats were sleeping swinging on the moonlightened waters...
        The steps had taken the way towards the magic light of the lighthouse, but they had stopped hesitating at the beginning of the narrow road leading upthere... and  hadn't followed it, because too much loneliness would have been now at its end, in the cruel night wind, in that place that had been a shore of happiness....
        ... and again other steps, over other ones, with too short breaks from which the salty night wind was driving them away like in a story no one knows the end of...
       
        The later the night becomes, the more silent it is and the fewer the steps crossing it are... and maybe its thick darkness will vanish these ones too... or maybe only them will remain to cross it... and then, there, at the edge of the time, where the forgotten dreams drink moon water from our hands reaching out towards the future, the sleepless paleness of the dawn will find somewhere, on some unknown stone stairs, a woman in white, sleeping her head on her knees.

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