Nada

Skylight, open window, I start to observe
the elderly from the main square.
They're dancing when he asks to talk.

“What if I, after darkness falls,
hope to see that light,
the one that announces it's the final act?

What if the curtain doesn't open, and everything goes dark?
It would be absurd,
like arriving at a hotel with closed doors,
no welcomes... nothing... nothing.
Will I be able to warn you?
Like noise without air, what will I do?”
“Nothing. Resign yourself without more.
That's how the cycles of loneliness go.”

Skylight. And that window that leads to an outside world.
Remains closed for weeks,
and we finally meet by chance.

And when asked if she's feeling better,
she inhales and says that when he left, darkness entered.
They're silent, dense.
Even when opening windows and blankets,
or under the sheets... nothing... nothing...
Nothing, a king that forbids her to scream.
Right at that moment, I fell silent.
Nothing is what I said, if in my generation
“forever” is “almost” and in “nothing” it stayed.

There was no more encounter.
I thought I was living with a relative now,
and no, I saw them on two thousand covers.
It was a unique case.
I read they took a hundred million from a bank, and yes,
the armored camera shone.
And everything had gone great.
Who knows where they'll be now...