High season ends—
    tourists vanish,
    streets quiet,
    beaches empty,

    Puerto Vallarta settles into its slow, silent rhythm.

But for me,
    it's not just the crowds leaving.

It's the brightness,
       the laughter,

    the warmth of moments spent close to her.

Low season begins,
    not just on calendars, but inside me…

    in empty mornings,
    restless nights,
    days stretching endlessly,

    missing conversations I can't replace.

The sun will still rise,
    waves will still whisper,
    but every beautiful thing
    feels quieter,

    every color muted without her.

And suddenly,
    low season doesn't seem like enough—
    because my high season

    wasn't a place,
    wasn't a time.

    It was her.