It was one of those sleepless nights again. It wasn’t so dark because the reddish light outside was freaking intense. Besides, the window was huge. Yeah, I really wanted something to ignite my soul, but not that way. So I took my pillow and blankets and walked away. Where to? Well, the night was filled with inquisitive, shining eyes that stared at the city’s one and only man that was wandering “lonely as a cloud”. They wondered why an earnest, curious dreamer who’s learnig the tongue of Shakespeare would be talking to himself in the middle of the night. Was the black-eyed man one of the thousands of refugees that usually end up in the capital city without a place to take shelter from savaged countryside violence, or had he lost himself and dived into an ocean of melancholy after someone he thought he loved went to Heaven? These and many more questions inside the night’s eyes popped out. All they could hear from him were shapeless words: Wilde, Dumas, and a bunch more.