There are moments that determine the path for thoughts. Instants in which extraordinary incidents occur that, nevertheless, could go unnoticed buried in a world of the ordinary. They could… unless they are in the right place at the right time.
I have been always a bit reticent to mull over ideas. I have the distressing feeling that, if they are thought of over and over, they go on polishing and eroding until they disappear, until everything left from them is just a shadow of what they were, if anything. And I was witnessing this, not as an absurd fear of mine, but it became real sometimes.
I was obsessed over the idea of that man hiding something terrifying. I have investigated, looked into, came to conclusions about what I have discovered. I had dreamt. I thought it was because my mind was going over and over all the new information I knew then, and was trying to release tension. I was a fool, I know it now. The more I went on, the more I was sure that everything was true. I forgot about the erosion of the ideas. And right there, with everything that was unfolding in front of me, I couldn´t help noticing that the idea that had made an impression on me was nothing else than a residue. I thought it was a castle firmly built on strong ground, but it was built over clouds, as susceptible to fly away with the weakest gust as them.
“Good night, Ýlan” said that being. The wind blew. And the castle flew.