Chayanne - Desde Siempre-2005- ●

Her mother had left for the United States three years ago, promising to send for her. The promise arrived monthly in the form of a money order and a brief, static-filled phone call. But Sofía had stopped believing in promises. Instead, she believed in Chayanne.

She closed her eyes. The lyrics spoke of a love that had existed before memory, a connection written into the fabric of time. But Sofía stopped hearing a love song. She heard a daughter’s song. Te he esperado desde siempre —I’ve waited for you since always. She wasn’t waiting for a lover. She was waiting for her mother. 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. Her mother had left for the United States

Sofía pressed the paper to her chest. She didn’t cry. She walked to her window, the storm now a soft drizzle, and looked out at the wet, glittering street. The power wasn't back on, but the world felt brighter. Instead, she believed in Chayanne

And then, on the second chorus, something shifted. The music seemed to swell beyond the boombox’s tiny speakers. The candle flame flickered, not from a draft, but in rhythm. Sofía felt a warm pressure on her shoulder, as if someone had placed a hand there. She didn't turn around. She was afraid to break the spell.

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.

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.