A Toro Pasao

My memory glitches like an old phone overflowing with photos that no one needs anymore. Everything seemed to be there, but now it's blurred, as if someone spilled coffee on the screen of life and didn't wipe it off. Between the lines is fatigue from trying to fix something that has been working intermittently for a long time.

It sounds like an evening when thoughts no longer catch on, and the brain runs the same thing over and over: “I should sleep.” Love here is not a tragedy, but a system error that even a restart cannot fix. And among all these “tataratatara” sounds, a familiar one can be heard - the rhythm of burnout, hiding under a joke. It's all over, but the “save” button is still pressed.