Being existing in its very impossibility

 And you from there think of yourself as an impatient night who, unfolding the distance, crosses and measures love, the distance to the fear of loneliness and torture, unfolds like a poison to come, lashes out against itself, lashes out and the delayed effect awaits in the long latency of the being that one wants to be constant, to be similar to oneself, immovable from being night in trouble of confused nocturnality, to be existing in its very impossibility.