Yo pensaba que me había tocado Dios

A dream that refuses to fade away lingers on after waking. In it, you can speak honestly, without fear of looking like a stranger among your own people. Here, you flee not from police sirens, but from your own shadows, which hide deeper than any alleyway.

The music echoes, as if the words cannot bring themselves to be direct and are masked in drawn-out “uhs,” like a cry that has frozen halfway to the throat. But behind this lies a simple and stubborn desire: to find that very person and finally stop running away.

And in this insistent mantra - “better to die tomorrow than live a thousand years without you” - there is no pathos or drama. It sounds like an everyday truth: like “we're out of salt” or “the door slammed shut.” Only salt can always be bought, and doors can be opened. But without that “you,” there really is nowhere to go.