Sangre

Sometimes love cracks not from shouting, but from too much use - like a mug that has survived a hundred morning coffees and a couple of accidental falls. Everything seems to be intact, but it's scary to drink from it now. The song echoes that familiar “what if we try again, but do it right?” with a hint of belated regret and almost childlike naivety - as if someone decided to glue the pieces back together not for the sake of a miracle, but for the sake of an experiment.

It is bitterly beautiful, like a conversation after a quarrel, when you no longer argue, but simply let go. “Let it bleed - it means it's alive.” And there is a strange consolation in this: pain is not the end, but a sign that feelings are still breathing, albeit hoarsely.