Hasta Luego, Puerto Vallarta
I don’t say goodbye—
(Not to you, sweet Vallarta…)
I say hasta luego.
Because goodbye feels like a door closing—
And you?
You live… in every open window of my soul.
You are the salt in my skin,
The rhythm in my hips,
The sun in my stories.
You welcomed me like an old friend—
(Returning home from a long, cold winter.)
And I did—
Come home.
To color.
To culture.
To the creative columns of a people
Who carry tradition… like a sacred fire.
Puerto Vallarta—
Where live music spills through cobblestone veins.
Where the night hums boleros and barefoot salsa,
And every street corner whispers…
“Dance with me.”
Where even silence wears sequins,
And smiles are worn like sunhats.
You gave me mornings with Fabi—
Zumba in the open air,
Moving like no one was watching
(Even though everyone was.)
We laughed, we sweated,
We found rhythm beyond the mirror.
It was a daily devotion.
My chapel… of joy.
You gave me whales and dolphins—
Majestic prayers rising from the sea.
Wild witnesses to my healing.
I saw them.
And they… saw me.
You gave me sunset after golden sunset—
Sky bleeding into ocean,
Night flirting with day…
Colors I could never paint—
But always tried to write down.
Because they deserved to be remembered.
You gave me family—
In the form of strangers
(Who never stayed that way for long.)
I was treated like a queen in exile.
A sister come home.
A regular in the temple… of connection
That feeling of being fully alive—
Under the soft spotlight… of dreams.
You gave me projects
That mattered.
Theatre that didn’t just entertain—
It transformed.
Art that wasn’t performance—
It was prayer.
My writers’ group—
We gathered with pens and possibility.
We were vulnerable. Bold.
Shaping syllables into mirrors,
Making each other braver.
Thank you, my tribe of words.
You gave me a place to speak truth—
And be met with applause… or better—
Understanding.
You gave me charity in its truest form—
Community.
Hands that lift. Hearts that hold.
People who see need…
And respond with love, not pity.
This—I’ve never known
Anywhere else in the world.
Puerto Vallarta,
You’re a paintbrush dipped in heat,
A tambourine shaking out fear,
A grandmother’s embrace…
A child’s first laugh…
A soft tortilla—folded around fire and tenderness.
You gave me more than time.
You gave me space.
To heal.
To play.
To remember myself—
Not as a visitor—
But as someone who belonged.
So, no.
I won’t say goodbye.
Because how do you say goodbye
To a place that’s become…
Part of your pulse?
Hasta luego.
I carry you with me—
In the lines I write.
The songs I sing.
The sun I seek.
And every time I dance—
(Oh, I will dance…)
To your rhythm.
To your memory.
To your magic.
Gracias, mi Puerto Vallarta—
For the music.
For the movement.
For the miracles.
You will always be…
My soul’s encore.
