Four o'clock in the morning, the time between night and day. Between tossing and turning. At the age of thirty. When the rooster crows to clean up. When the earth takes back its warm embrace. Start with the cool breeze of the dying stars. When we disappear without leaving a trace. Free time. It's nothing. There's no point. The basis of all other times.
At four o'clock in the morning, no one is feeling well. If an ant feels this way, we will be happy for it. If we are still alive, let us come at five o'clock. It was love at first sight, and both of them were convinced that a sudden passion brought them together. This belief is beautiful, but uncertainty is even better. If they have never met, they are sure.
Nothing will happen between them. However, what are the words coming from the streets, stairs and corridors saying? Maybe they have passed each other countless times? I want to ask them if they remember-they saw each other's faces at the moment of revolving door? Perhaps, in the crowd, I whispered "I'm sorry"?
On the phone, I accidentally said "wrong number"? However, I know the answer. Yes, they have forgotten. They are so surprised. Opportunity has been playing with them for years. Opportunity is not ready to become their destiny. It pushes them closer, pushes them away, blocks their way, and then moves aside to block their snickers.