Mexico, you were my first. And for that, you will always be a guiding star above the rocky sea of my midnight azul-tinted travel memories.
You were my first taste. Of being at home away from home. Of forgetting where home is and what it smells like. Of remembering that home is not only a comfy bed to crash into at the end of a long hot day, a familiar cat in the window, my favorite coffee mug begging me to wake up before noon.
Home is a feeling I can carry with me. I can build it within me, again and again.
Mexico, you were my first kiss. Of listening to my body’s clock. Of seeing Mondays roll in, while exhaling endless Saturdays. Of seeing my skin, muscles, and reactions transform in the sun.
Thank you for making my first time painless. For not breaking my heart. And for letting me move on without a fight when I needed more space, to start seeing others, to fall in love with myself again.