Pobres Románticos

It sounds like a chronicle of eternal ‘should have’ - kissed, said, let go... but everything remained unspoken, like an unfinished letter. Mistakes accumulate into a collection, and instead of tragedy, quiet irony is born: well, the ‘bad romantics’ are back in the arena, pretending again that love is simple arithmetic.

The chorus offers a strange consolation: love is always born and always dies, which means there will be a new cycle ahead. Nothing is final, everything is temporary, even pain. The sadness here is soft, without anguish - more like the memory of an old scar that has stopped hurting but left a beautiful pattern on the skin.