I was born into color

That is where I was born. In a city with little colorful roofs and green reflections on the glass of the tall buildings.

A place where, don't ask me why, freshly brewed coffee in the morning smells better than anywhere else.

The city where if you run out of sugar and ask your neighbor for a little, they will not only give you some, but also invite you for coffee and arepitas.

The city with the perfect weather; even on days when it rains, it clears up quickly afterward.

When you are in it, sometimes you don't know if it's a city or a jungle. You get even more confused when the macaws come, with their colorful wings, to greet you at your window.

And the weekend arrives and your friends tell you, "Let's go to the beach." "Sounds good," you reply, and in 45 minutes you arrive at the saltwater and heal your sorrows.

Magical.

A true work of art.

And now that I think about it, I was born in a work of art.