Maria paints the bittersweet story of a moonlit romance on Spain’s misty coast. Each night, a young man arrives “con la bruma del mar” – wrapped in sea fog and untamed emotions – while María slips barefoot through the house so she does not disturb the loveliest dream. Their reunion is tender and cinematic: she races into his arms, blushes a shy “sí,” and he reassures her that “las flores volverán a crecer donde ahora lloramos,” promising that even sadness can bloom again. They talk in riddles, laugh beneath an open sky, and drift into sleep as though hidden from the rest of the world.
But seasons change. Winter comes, he leaves, and María is left clutching hope. Every 13th of March at ten o’clock she waits, staring into puddles she once used as mirrors, convinced his silhouette will reappear from the sea mist. The song captures the fragile line between dream and reality, celebrating the intensity of first love while acknowledging the ache of absence. It reminds listeners that memories can comfort, hope can persevere, and new flowers can always grow where tears once fell.