This year I'd a night when I was lost in a jungle,
with dozens of school kids, seventh grade,
and everyone had a torch to make out the thorns.
Also a night in which when I turned in a circle,
the farthest thing to see was the horizon, everywhere.
The starry sky was packed with constellations and their stories,
and it covered the blue landscape like a bowl.
I saw Jupiter through a telescope one night
and it looked to me like a speck of light reflected from my own eye.
In those nights I often thought:
these are the only kind of nights I want.
Today, now, it is some minutes past midnight.
I'm 27 years old and closer to the fact
that life is only about the lies we tell ourselves.
Everything is not a possibility.
But that makes anything impossible.