It’s getting dark. The sun’s hectic glare is subsiding to make way for the perfidy of night. Invading and cruel shadows expand their grey toned skin gobbling up the luminous leftovers of a decaying sun, removing life out of warm and vibrant colours rendering them cold and lifeless.

It is the night, allied to some, that now rules the world. It is now when the universal chiaroscuro battle tilts its balance to favor the ignominous, the disgrace of the few. It’s the time of deceit, betrayal and pain, it is the perfect cloak for evil to surface. But it is also the time for love and lovers, it is the time for nervous laughter in dark corners, tender kisses, ajar mouths and mundane poetry.

And then a glare on the horizon begins to emerge. We hear the glaring sound of brigth golden trumpets making their way through darkenss. Some shadows remain as evidence of a battle, their skin scattered all over the place resembling a chaotic battlefield filled with two dimentional corpses. Again, the sunlight win. A win that will only serve to set the ground for another battle. It is this battle of light vs. darkness that balances our existence, a battle in which each God claims its space, a power struggle in which we all have a part, but none have choice.