The night holds secrets hostage, desire melting and unstable. The night favors clandestine things, deceptions, cowardice. In the darkness of cities and human landscapes, it makes names implode and merge things into anonymity because the darkness erases everything, hides everything. It has always been the crossroads of silence that expands the air and sighs, leaving loneliness the opportunity to restore their ghosts. But the night is also an overturning, a coup, a surprise: what the day throws adrift the night seems to welcome, heal, bring back to life.

Lovers cradle themselves in their beds, the streets accompany the footsteps of those who linger, skilfully marking the sound of happiness or disillusionment, friends scream in the alleys. We could say that the night with its own darkness is a strange sparkling shape that reveals things by hiding them.

Whether this is protection or the banning of all love, it is certain that what characterizes it is our intimacy, our turmoil, our denunciations. They are the dreams that we entrust to her every time we close our eyes and the tears when our eyes cannot close. Yes, the night is the center of wars and loves because in its blinding darkness it is the orogeny of enlightened and never pacified feelings. And further on, among the streets shrouded in its own darkness, is where everything, in its profound and overwhelming absence, screams the evidence of its lacerating reality.