Cómo Fue?

Sometimes pain can be almost beautiful - quiet, like a room after someone has left, and warm, because memories still live there. Each line is like a breath between memories, where even a cigarette doesn't help, but only smells of the past. The heart seems alive, but somewhere it is flawed - beating unevenly, stumbling over a name that cannot be forgotten. And now it is unclear which is harder - to miss or to try to stop. The world has simply become a little quieter, and even the air now sounds like that very photograph that cannot be thrown away.