One night, a storm knocked out the power. The whole town went dark, the silence broken only by the drumming rain and her grandmother’s snores. Sofía lit a candle and, out of habit, pressed play on her dusty boombox. The batteries, miraculously, had one last gasp of life.
I bought my ticket.
From that night on, Sofía understood what Desde Siempre really meant. It wasn’t about a love that had existed since the beginning of time. It was about the faith that the ones we wait for are waiting for us, too—even when the power goes out, even when the batteries die. Desde siempre meant now. It meant always. And it meant, finally, tomorrow. Chayanne - Desde siempre-2005-
Instead, she sang along, her voice a thin, reedy thread against Chayanne’s confident baritone. But for the first time, she wasn’t imitating him. She was answering him. One night, a storm knocked out the power
She looked at the silent boombox, at the blurry face of Chayanne on the CD case. He was still smiling that ridiculous, white-suited smile. But it no longer looked like heaven. It looked like a promise kept. The batteries, miraculously, had one last gasp of life
The first track crackled to life. "No sé por qué…" Chayanne’s voice, smooth as polished stone, filled the tiny room. It was the song "Desde Siempre" (Since Always). She’d heard it a hundred times, but never in total darkness, never with the rain as a live percussion section.
One night, a storm knocked out the power. The whole town went dark, the silence broken only by the drumming rain and her grandmother’s snores. Sofía lit a candle and, out of habit, pressed play on her dusty boombox. The batteries, miraculously, had one last gasp of life.
I bought my ticket.
From that night on, Sofía understood what Desde Siempre really meant. It wasn’t about a love that had existed since the beginning of time. It was about the faith that the ones we wait for are waiting for us, too—even when the power goes out, even when the batteries die. Desde siempre meant now. It meant always. And it meant, finally, tomorrow.
Instead, she sang along, her voice a thin, reedy thread against Chayanne’s confident baritone. But for the first time, she wasn’t imitating him. She was answering him.
She looked at the silent boombox, at the blurry face of Chayanne on the CD case. He was still smiling that ridiculous, white-suited smile. But it no longer looked like heaven. It looked like a promise kept.
The first track crackled to life. "No sé por qué…" Chayanne’s voice, smooth as polished stone, filled the tiny room. It was the song "Desde Siempre" (Since Always). She’d heard it a hundred times, but never in total darkness, never with the rain as a live percussion section.