Caminos Entrelazados or Intertwined Paths.
Part 1 We’d met in el mercado, a small one, right in the heart of Chiapas, Mexico. The one on Guyava St. just across from the Library. Both of us marveling at the beauty of a Country that wasn’t our own. Though the color of our skin, made us seem to fit in. Indigenous almost. I was there in search of a scarf to compliment the dress I’d bought there the previous day. “El Amarillo." (the yellow one) he whispered as he passed. Just the sound of his voice, like the first strum of a guitar, the last dance at a wedding, brings chills to my entire being, even to the innermost depths of my soul. I turn and his smile meets mine. A bit crooked, but welcoming. Familiar, and stranger all at once. Like leaving home, like coming back and starting all over again. Like breathing for the first time. Like being in a place the last time. "Have we met?" I ask