me cuesta hablar

Feelings laid out line by line - like a hangover after a holiday that was too bright to pass without a trace. In every word there is the weight of loss, but also a strange relief, as if the pain has finally ceased to be a secret. This is a case where the heart is torn apart, but the mouth still says ‘it was worth it,’ and in this phrase there is no justification, but a faint glimmer of meaning.

This is not the romance of suffering, but an honest inventory of the consequences: double blows from yesterday's joys, envelopes with dreams that are better left unopened, and an attempt not to know about someone else's new happiness. The music sounds like a conversation in the kitchen at night - quiet, with a lump in the throat, but still with the hope that this truth will one day cease to cut from within.