Begrudgingly, I let Marie drag me from Casa Makoi to embark on a new adventure involving balconies that overlook the sea.

With a heavy heart, I bid adieu to Pedro and promised him that we would be back if I hated the new place. He was on the couch and barely glanced up from his iPod, giving me an indifferent nod. But I knew he was hurt, too.

I walk with Marie to La Guitarra, growing despondent and already forming excuses in my head to return to Makoi. Then I see this…

and this…

and this…

and had visions of me doing this…

and this…

and this…

…and I don’t know. I guess I’m fine with this change.