Yes, yes…no

The night it arrived as it always does, without knocking. It never asks permission, enters, and fills the space unhurried, as if it already knows the way. It doesn’t need to speak, doesn’t need to promise anything. It is the promise. And I, a fool, always fall for this game.

There’s an intimacy between us that’s never fully explained. It comes closer, wraps around me, and I let it. But the night belongs to no one — that’s the secret it always carries. It’s already preparing to leave, even when it seems to be mine alone. Its eyes, which I can barely see, always look toward the horizon, where dawn begins to stir. And I fool myself every time.

It whispers, it draws me in, and I get lost. The stars up there seem to watch from a distance, indifferent to what happens down here, where I’m just another mortal deceived by the fleeting beauty of darkness. I cling to the illusion that this time will be different, that the night will stay. That perhaps, finally, it will be mine.

But the hours pass like sand slipping through an hourglass. The night, that ungrateful lover, begins to fade. I feel the distance long before I realize how late it’s become. It toys with me, like someone who caresses only to pull away. And I, with nowhere left to turn, try to hold on to what was never mine. Too late. It’s already decided.

When the first trace of light cuts across the sky, it leaves me. It goes just as quietly as it came. And I’m left feeling like I was just one more in its long list of broken hearts. It abandons me with that smile that says nothing and everything at once as if condemning me to friendship. “It’s better this way,” it seems to whisper.

But I never wanted to be the night’s friend. Friendship is for those who don’t care about tomorrow. On the other hand, I wanted it to fill and complete me. I wanted the darkness to be my home, not just a passing visitor. But it, with its cold indifference, leaves me at the mercy of the sun, of this light that reveals the emptiness it left behind.

And deep down, I knew. I always knew. The night doesn’t belong to anyone. It passes, playing with the dreams of those who desire it but never stays. It is a lover of everyone and no one, an echo of promises that will never be kept. Maybe that’s what seduces me: it will never be mine.

And so the dawn finds me alone. And I realize that what ties me to the night isn’t the darkness but the quiet hope that one day, it might change its mind. And even knowing it will always leave me, I keep waiting for the next time because there is a certain beauty in losing yourself to what will never be. And maybe that’s what the night likes most about me.