There's a specific sound a comal makes when pupusa dough hits it. There's a specific light the sky gets over Boulevard Los Próceres at 6pm. There's a smell — wet earth after the first rain in May — that doesn't exist anywhere else in the world.
If you're far away, this one's for you.
It's the raspado vendor calling out the flavor of the day on the same corner as always. It's the woman on the bus who recognizes you even though it's been years. It's the San Salvador volcano peeking between the buildings, like it's always keeping watch.
It's El Zonte beach at sunrise, nobody around but a couple of early surfers. It's Suchitoto gone quiet on a random Tuesday. It's Ruta de las Flores smelling like fresh-roasted coffee in October.
El Salvador isn't going anywhere. It's still there, exactly how you left it, waiting for you to come back — even if it's just through a screen, for now.
