Hoy va a ser el día

It's time to finally declare a truce with the past - at least until the next song. It's a bit like a party where you promise yourself “I won't text my ex anymore,” but the bartender is already pouring your third drink, and your feet are carrying you to the dance floor. Your heart knows it will lie again, of course, but it still whispers “I'll never fall in love again,” like a spell you want to say out loud, with emotion, so that at least someone will believe you.

The air smells of August and freedom - that fragile, intoxicating freedom when the past seems to have let go, but still sends signals in the form of old notes and random songs. And yet - there is a bright weariness in this. The kind that gives rise to new promises to live, laugh, and, of course, make mistakes again.