Amor | Un Video Para Mi

I am making this video because words, sometimes, forget how to arrive. They leave my mouth as smoke—beautiful, but gone before you can hold them.

Un Video Para Mi Amor Visuals: Grainy, warm light. A window at dusk. Hands holding a coffee cup. Blurred city lights. Laughter from another room. A single flower losing its petals.

But I will stay . I will choose you in the boredom, in the exhaustion, in the Tuesday afternoons that feel like wet cement. I will choose you when your hair is a mess and your temper is short and the world has been unkind.

Montage of small, sacred things: a half-eaten apple, a tangled pair of headphones, a pillow with a dent in it. un video para mi amor

In this video, I want to give you the things I never say out loud:

Do you know what I realized today? That I have memorized the sound of your breathing through a telephone line. That I can close my eyes and reconstruct the exact curve of your shoulder, the way light falls on it at 5:47 PM.

Scared that one day, this video will be the only proof that we existed. Scared that the algorithm will bury us, that the pixels will degrade, that your face will become a blur of ones and zeros. I am making this video because words, sometimes,

(I see you. I choose you. I keep you.)

They tell you love is fireworks. A grand gesture. A sky full of light.

But maybe that’s the point. Maybe the most radical thing we can do is to record each other. To say: You mattered. You were here. I saw you. A window at dusk

I am making this video because love, when it is real, is not a photograph. It is a roll of film still being developed. It is the half-second between the flash and the image appearing. It is the waiting .

I am also scared.