Tanto_tiempo Apr 2026

I nodded, unable to find my voice. The "so much time" wasn't just a measurement of days; it was a physical weight sitting on the table between our coffee cups, invisible and heavy as lead. We weren't just two people meeting for a drink; we were two strangers trying to find the pieces of ourselves we had left in each other's pockets ten years ago. "Tanto tiempo," I finally agreed. "Where do we even start?"

You sat down, and for a heartbeat, neither of us moved. The noise of the city outside faded into a dull hum. You reached for your water glass, and I saw the thin silver band on your finger that hadn't been there when we said goodbye in that rainy terminal. "Tanto tiempo," you whispered. tanto_tiempo

When the bell above the door finally chimed, the sound felt like a crack in a glass dam. You walked in, looking exactly the same and entirely different. The way you tilted your head to scan the room was a ghost of a gesture I used to know by heart. I nodded, unable to find my voice

The words didn't just mean "it’s been a long time." They meant: I missed your sister’s wedding. I wasn’t there when your father passed. I didn't see you learn how to be okay without me. "Tanto tiempo," I finally agreed

Since "Tanto Tiempo" translates to "Long Time" or "So Much Time" in Spanish, this piece explores the weight of silence and the space between two people who haven't spoken in years.

You smiled, and for the first time in a decade, the dust began to settle. "At the beginning," you said. "Or maybe just at yesterday."