Fate has no voice here.
Actions have no consequences here.
Wealth has no appeal here.
Light has no clearance here
Your favorite game has no bugs here.
Your Wi-fi has no password here.
Jackets have no buttons here.
Existence has no purpose here.
Wheat has no byproducts here.
Truth has no importance here.
The end has no beginnings here.
This place is only considered a place by the generosity of your consensus, and as the truths you hold dear to your heart start slipping through our fingers; some falling, some flying away in search of another fool, hold on to this one, for there is a place to which you can run. The mountains you dreamily watch in the horizon can be reached; the clouds you observe, raising your hand in a foolish attempt to touch them, can surround you like the seas you never saw, drowning you in wanderlust, not under the light of day, ever eager to draw its truths and insist unwelcomely in their alleged universality, but under the comfort of the night, where sight is questionable and the answers are subjective. And to watch, to taste, to drink, to love and to live the life under the silver lights, only one thing you should remember, whether as an abstract truth or a tangible lie:
You have no self here.
Welcome the night, for it awaits.