Nighttime, waistband. A moment before entering the realm of dreams—a moment of total denial and surrender. It is in these moments that words enter my consciousness, finding their way into the perceivable, the thinkable, the expressible.

I want to open my eyes, write them down, become a slave to my subconscious—but my mind is a cage with infinite doors, and going beyond is the same as never moving at all. That’s why I give up, surrender, and let my muscles twitch.

Beauty finds me, not the other way around. I want to write beautifully, but I can only express what has given me form within the formless. And so, each night, I let beauty destroy every notion of selflessness and dive into the stream of unfiltered darkness.

I can’t write what I see there, as these words hold no meaning; they don’t want to be remembered. Yet each morning, I wake up knowing that beauty will find me again.