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From the article:

No sabía como empezar por eso no lo dije, ni escribí antes ... lo hago ahora aunque quizás no lo leas, ni te llegué, aunque posiblemente sea demasiado tarde .

Quiero que sepas que me dolio callarme y dejarte ir . Que me quedaron muchas palabras atascadas en la garganta, sentimientos guardados en el corazón, verdades que no supe decir sin que sonoran a reclamos , demasiados abrazos que no te di . Nunca te dije mirandote a los ojos lo mucho que me importabas, porque sentia que ya lo habias notado y ese fue mi error "suponer" ... también dar por hecho que sentias lo mismo , que no necesitabas oirlo , que era suficiente con verme la cara , mi miranda de tonta cuando estabamos cerca . Me quede en silencio observandote tantas veces con ganas de interrumpir lo que decias para contarte quien eras para mi , como alegrabas mi vida y eras mi refugio.

Se que ya no tiene sentido decirlo , no hay tiempo ... también se que esté texto es más para mi que para vos , eso que guarde tanto tiempo ... comenzó a pesar y merezco soltar lo que no dije por miedo a tu rechazo , a tus reacciones impredecibles.

Donald Trump walked into Quantico Tuesday expecting a rally. He got a funeral.

The generals sat in perfect silence, faces locked in the kind of grim stillness that comes from years of watching idiots talk and choosing not to react. Trump, of course, couldn’t handle it. “I’ve never walked into a room so silent before,” he confessed, his voice trembling somewhere between wounded pride and panic. Then came the kicker: “If you want to applaud, you applaud.”

This wasn’t leadership. This was a washed-up Vegas act begging the crowd to clap. The Commander-in-Chief turned into the Clapper-in-Chief, reduced to prodding the nation’s top brass like a sad carnival barker who forgot his punchline.

A campaign rally in uniform.

Instead of strategy, Trump delivered his usual medley of grievances: Barack Obama ruined everything, Joe Biden ruined it twice as hard, and only Donald J. Trump, self-proclaimed “two-term, maybe three-term president” could save America. It was less a military briefing than an episode of The Apprentice: Pentagon Edition. The generals, trained to withstand battlefield chaos, sat stone-faced through the barrage of nonsense. They have endured artillery fire with more enthusiasm.

Enter Pete Hegseth, America’s Pastor-in-Arms. Trump’s “Secretary of War” took the podium with the intensity of a man who thinks Tom Clancy novels are actual military doctrine. He promised “fire and brimstone,” called for purges of “fat generals,” and announced he wants the next war to look exactly like the Gulf War, because apparently it’s still 1991 and CNN is running that same grainy footage of tanks in the desert. But Hegseth wasn’t done. He led them in prayer. Yes, prayer. The nation’s top generals, summoned by presidential ego, now folded into a forced altar call like extras at a megachurch revival. The separation of church and state?

Obliterated. Constitution? Shredded. Jesus, apparently, is now Commander-in-Chief. Trump can play Vice.

Weakness on parade.

Trump likes to brag about firing generals who “aren’t warriors.” But on Tuesday, the real firing squad was silence. Not one clap. Not one cheer. Just the steady hum of contempt vibrating off the brass like feedback from a dead microphone. These men and women have seen actual combat. They’ve buried soldiers. They’ve lived with the weight of real command. And now they’re expected to cheer for a man who brags about moving “a submarine or two” like it’s a toy in a bathtub, or who lectures about “two N-words” as though nuclear strategy were a stand-up routine. No wonder they didn’t clap.

The pin-drop presidency.

What happened at Quantico wasn’t just awkward. It was diagnostic. Trump’s presidency is a hollow shell propped up by applause, and when the applause disappears, so does he.

And Hegseth? He’s the zealot-in-chief, delivering sermons about war and Christ in equal measure, a man confusing the Book of Revelation with the Pentagon’s operations manual. Together, they make quite the duo: one desperate for claps, the other desperate for amens. The generals gave them neither. Instead, they gave silence, the most cutting judgment of all."