Un Video Para Mi — Amor

You walking away from the camera, then stopping. Turning back. Smiling slightly.

So here is my promise, recorded in light and shadow:

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.

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

Soft focus on a map, then your fingers tracing a line between two cities.

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.

Montage of small, sacred things: a half-eaten apple, a tangled pair of headphones, a pillow with a dent in it. You walking away from the camera, then stopping

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.

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

"Te veo. Te elijo. Te guardo."

That when you laugh, I feel my ribs loosen. That when you are sad, I want to build a fortress around your silence. That I have become a student of your small devastations and your tiny joys.

But I have learned that love is quieter than that. Love is the fact that I remember you hate the feeling of dry socks. Love is me buying strawberries even though I am allergic, just so I can watch you eat them. Love is the absence you leave in a room—the way a chair seems lonelier after you stand up.

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 . So here is my promise, recorded in light