What does the Night say when the dreadful fear listens in me? Everything in me is still wounded and defenseless as an adolescent! I have not yet researched for myself the extended question marks of Redemptive, Hand-held Love and Question and Answer! "What can the dense Night ask, if all the flames of the Universe on each other's glowing-tense bodies are just dust-covered, avittos dazes?"
 
My selfish, man-avoiding stutter in my murderous silences: Where could I have made a mistake? And could only I have sinned ?! I would call him, the Angel who caresses in his chirping voice, still me — I have another difficult day to come — I can’t discover his superstitious lunar face! Despair s selfish tremors all night woe-trouble!
 
What will the Night say in a whisper, and will I be able to trust even those I have surely accepted as my Eternal Friends ?! Will the Dear listen with deliberately tamed zeal when my shattered Soul invites me by asking a giver-expensive confession? ,,Everything is alright?!"
 
Will he listen then? Will you listen to my countless billions of bubbling questions ?! What can the Night listen to if, as a studded, dreamy alien, I had to thrive on this complicated earth alone; Will the Night be silent and speechless ?! My condensed moment, if I'm not careful, promises a trough: injured wrinkles fall from my face with tears…