Everything sooner or later ends without ever truly ending.

In the end I learned to wait for it all to be fulfilled. It became a silent routine, a ritual of waiting. At night I always found myself putting off the moment to go to sleep, unable to decide. It was just like when I was little and feared the monsters hidden under the bed: only now they lived on top, walking all over me, and I, shrunk by terror, would convince myself to lie down only when my body gave way, exhausted by exhaustion.

But resting, deep down, was impossible. Mind and soul refused any truce, incapable of surrendering to the dark. They stayed right there, nailed to keep watch, intent on gathering every single fragment, decoding invisible signals, squeezing thought down to the very last residue of lucidity, in a desperate attempt to understand.