A Buena Hora

ANÁLISIS | SIGNIFICADO

In a melancholic Sunday evening of autumn, the clock strikes nine as I sit in my room, lost in thought. Memories flood my mind as I gaze at old photographs and read your letters, calling out your name into the quiet room. Just when I thought you were a distant echo of the past, a sudden call breaks the silence after years of silence. It seems conscience and patience have formed an unlikely alliance.

You speak of a longing to be here by my side, a desire that comes too late, too suddenly. Despite my efforts to mask my emotions with a smile, the pain lingers beneath the surface. Time has passed, yet you never found the courage to return.

A bittersweet irony unfolds as you claim that I am the one who understood your deepest unspoken desires, the one who offered solace when the heart yearned for comfort. But now, as you return to mend the soul you once shattered, to alter the course of my life at your whim, it is evident that the timing couldn't be more wrong.

Mother Experience whispers sage advice, reminding me not to settle for fleeting moments of reconciliation. Time has a way of revealing truths, of unraveling the purest intentions and exposing them to the harsh light of reality. How dare you attempt to rewind the clock, to undo what has been done?

It is indeed a 'fine time' you choose to reappear, a time when the wounds have scarred over, when the heart has learned to beat anew without you. Your misguided attempts to rewrite our history, to redefine our present, only serve to highlight the distance that now separates us. And as you stand before me, seeking forgiveness and redemption, I can only shake my head in disbelief at the cruel twist of fate.

So, in this Sunday evening of introspection and reminiscence, let us acknowledge the past for what it is - a chapter closed, a lesson learned. And as the night grows darker, let us part ways with grace, knowing that some things are simply not meant to be revisited, no matter how 'fine' the time may seem.