Desde el Reservao

The feeling of summer that hasn't ended, even though the calendar says otherwise. A velvety night, wine from plastic cups, music clinging to the skin like sea salt. Everything seems the same - the beach, the TV series, the bed - only it's gotten colder, emptier. The sun no longer warms, it just shines. And somewhere in the air there is the smell of someone else's perfume and memories of how everything was “before.”

It seems that the body still remembers the movements of reggaeton, and the mind remembers that light-hearted foolishness when being close seemed more important than understanding why. And here we are again at the disco, surrounded by unfamiliar lights, but inside there is only one rhythm, one poison that is still as sweet as caramel. It's the same place, the same sounds, but now it's not dancing - it's the taste of loss that won't let go.