When I hear the words home.

When I hear the words home, I think of the humid air touching your skin as your feet step off the plane

I think about the settle breeze that hits you just for a second before the heat catches up to you.

When I hear the words home, I think of streets filled with noise, honking of cars and vans with street vendors selling just about anything you could think of.

When I hear the words home, I think of the hypnotizing sounds of bachata and merengue all throughout the neighborhood til late.

I think of the clanking of dominos on playing tables while the older men place their presidente’s on the concrete floor of the colmado.

When I hear the words home, I think of crystal turquoise blue waters with a warmth so inviting almost as if the water was giving you a hug.

When I hear the words home, I close my eyes and imagine I’m exactly there.