I can write until the candle burns out. Sometimes I try to keep going in the dark, but I no longer want to waste paper or ink on incomprehensible ideograms. Someone might read me, read us. There are times I think that none of this matters. Why put myself in danger with this book of the night? But I have to because if I write it, then it was real; if I write it, maybe we won’t just be part of a dream contained in a planet, inside a universe hidden in the imagination of someone who lives in the mouth of God.
