A long walk through streets I’ve never seen nor traversed ever before in my life—every sense in my body, alert, porous, fascinated;

My basic Spanish, his minimal English, but a more universal body language;

Food as the love language;

Little rolls of cash pressed into my palms, like I was twelve again, sleepy, hair wet, about to head off to school;

A scent memory in the process of forming;

His discerning eye for style, evolved through the years, no doubt a big pillar in his identity, “there’s obviously something making you hesitate, so sleep on it before you buy it”—perhaps a reminder for what I used to say when I first turned 30: that at this point in my life, if it’s not a fuck yes, then it’s a no

Them asking for pictures in touristy spots;

Seeing them enjoy a hard-earned vacation that we all could only have dreamed of (or laughed off) thirty years ago;

Auli waving hello furiously at the waiter taking our order, eyes laser-focused, brows knitted together, babbling a long string of gibberish;

Isn’t it crazy how we forget what it’s like to not know how to do things?