I have been to a few places in this lifetime. Very few, in fact, for someone who has this huge, innate desire to travel the world. I was about five when I started going to school. I didn’t last a week. I was there for three days, the daycare. I couldn’t stand it.

My dad liked driving us to vacation spots every summer. Or whenever Holy Week comes, and we need to go to at least seven churches. I was thirteen when I transferred schools. I hated it, of course. I was never into school, though I never actually failed a course. In that ugly city, I loved you. It was where we met, and I think I would have hated it much more if you weren’t there. We used to kiss in bathroom stalls, in your room, in our friend’s brother’s room -- I loved you there, too.

It was my first time being up in a Ferris wheel the night you left. I loved you there, as much as I wanted to push away the new you and pull out the old you when we reached the peak of the ride. I loved you there so much that it hurt. I went to university at sixteen. I was alone in a city full of dreams. I saw you everywhere even though you were never there.

At this point, I know -- I just do -- I can love you anywhere.