Un - Video Para Mi Amor

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

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 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.

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

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.

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.

Because love— this love—is not a feeling. It is a verb. A small, stubborn action. Repeated. Again. And again. un video para mi amor

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

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.

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

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.

Darkness. Then a single candle. The flame flickers violently, then steadies.

I am also scared.

"Te veo. Te elijo. Te guardo."