Los días que vendrán

There are songs that sound like a postcard found by chance between the pages of an old notebook. The ink on the paper has faded, but as soon as you read it, the smell of coffee, your mother's voice, the light of a candle before sunset suddenly come to life. Everything is so fragile, almost weightless, but that is precisely where the power lies - in the ability to preserve tiny details, as if they could cheat time.

There is a gentle stubbornness in the melody: not to push away the inevitable, but to hold it close to your chest and say,"Well, everything passes, and that's okay too. The irony of fate is that eternity is not made up of grand victories, but of whispers in the ear, of moonlight in April and a glass of champagne at midnight. That's how it turns out - one moment, but it seems like a whole lifetime.