The cracked cobblestone streets move at a quick pace as the hurried crowd rushes through. Pigeons clutter the path, pecking at abandoned crumbs left by those in haste. The blaring of sirens ring through the city, along with the jumbled chatter of many.
?
The architecture of thousands of years towers overhead, swallowing you into the past. A man sits on the sidewalk selling trinkets, handmade and delicate, just trying to get by. While statues of those unforgotten stand silently, watching. Their marbled eyes, unmoving yet seeing all, are a reminder of what once was.

So this is Rome. Wind blowing gently through your hair as the bells of cathedrals sing overhead. Little shops line the street, gelato waiting to be eaten on every corner. That sweet taste of strawberry, dancing across your tongue, is a pleasant reminder of summer days at home.

Along the street a fiddler plays a tune for all to hear; many stop to listen, some even dance. Fountains spray mist into the air as their skirts twirl, spinning in an elegant loop.

You feel like that; you feel like taking your shoes off and dancing in the mist, like letting the music seep into your soul, like spinning carelessly until you’re dizzy,

twirling along the road paved with memories or the monuments that are chipped and cracked, scared from times long ago. You feel like running your hand along the marks, tracing the wounds, wondering how they came to be. You can sense the past,?

of much different times. You can feel the stories in your bones, waiting to be told. So you close your eyes and take it all in because you’ll only be here for a little while longer.