As I read, dusk begins to fall and the room starts to darken. To avoid disturbing the gentleness of that dimness that fills the space, I turn on the small reading lamp. A circle of light — a small territory that detaches me completely from the world, entirely absorbed in what I read.

Outside, everything begins to fade: the streets, the voices, the noise of the world. Nothing can be heard except the rustle of paper, the quiet beating of the heart, and the lamp that stays awake, tireless. It knows all the secrets of sleepless nights, the underlined sentences, the sighs, and the eyelids that surrender.