Quiet time the one who takes care of us. Sometimes with harsh melancholy. Others with harsh absences. But, almost always, with the soft touch of passing. For the lost times when we don't remember to love. Life pinches us when we wake up. It is the air of the soul. Our weakness. Weak at night; she lives fighting our nightmares. Locked up in our hard cage. In the darkness left by the nameless. Phantasms that inhabit us and we are, make us prisoners of their own dialogues with their 'displacing' objects, always inaccessible. That cage in the shape of a diamond made with arrows that are pursued indicating the closed movement of the displacement towards the possible exit of the invisible void that pushes us from within.