Lo Que Pasó, Pasó - feat. Marta Santos

My imagination paints a lovely reimagining of destinies: in the next life, a carpenter, to build a tiny house in a corner of the sky; in the next one, an engineer, to build a bridge straight to the warmth of a foreign shore. It all sounds like a note in the margins of a diary, where practical concern and childish mischief are mixed together: to build, to wash, to restart the plot according to a new plan.

The chorus sounds like a quiet reminder over morning tea - what's past is past, but the world keeps turning, and wounds have a way of healing on their own. Painful places seem louder today simply because the light is dimmer; a little later, they will turn into pleasant scars with a story that makes you smile. There is no pathos, rather a light philosophy at the market counter: take what warms you, leave the rest on the shelf.

And in the bridge of the song, there is a suggestion to rewrite the script: change the course, improve the ending, do another take before time runs out. There is a little bit of audacity and a lot of warmth in this: a willingness to be anyone - even a petty thief for the sake of the moon - just to meet again. The ending begs to be repeated, like the desire to write a new page and not lose hope.