Echoes of yesterday
The wine cools on the table,
no one toasts and no one sings,
the empty chair remains,
and an echo of your worn voice.
Neon lights blind me,
but they don’t light up the sorrow,
the city moves fast
and I stay in the same scene.
Sadness of a closed bar,
of half-written songs,
of wanting to erase your name
only to write it again.
Photography by Camilla Morachis Beltrán.
He writes with an urban and poetic voice, mixing bohemian elegance with the pulse of the street.