All that didn't last too long. You see, the moment you finally get everything you think you want - that's just the time that the world shifts under your feet for better or for worse.
He saw me first. He planned his attack carefully, not calling too much attention to himself and always being sure to put the music in the forefront of our conversations. He was kind and gentle, soft-spoken but direct. He was an incredibly talented musician with a smooth intelligent confidence that I had only seen in movies. He was unassuming, but his powerful energy moved me. I went to a rehearsal at his farm, and haven't stopped singing his music since that day.
Funny what love does.
Today, after a very long week of apartment hunting, moving, and installing internet (believe me, this is NO small feat here in Colombia), I am hopping a bus to Cali to perform his music at the Colombo Americano. The dishes in the sink aren't all mine, but it doesn't bother me. The bed is usually made, and the curtains are still open, but there are differences now. Aguapanela and arepas replaced the coffee. The beer is his, the wine is mine. I share my bed, he shares his clothes. Now we share everything: meals and dreams and all the in-betweens.
I reflect on my time alone and smile. I did it. I lived alone in a foreign country. And now, I smile because he's cooking arepas and we have new adventures to tackle. Together. His music creeps into my ear and I start to hum along.
