When in Rome…
Breathe slowly under the ancient weight of the Colosseum. Inhale the centuries of legend engraved on its stones, the faint anxiety that history waits to repeat itself in this place. Exhale under its watchful shadow, now the keeper of Metro stops, busy streets, and bustling gay bars. Breathe. Stand. Marinate in your smallness.
Let your heart race at the sudden sparkle of turquoise on white, the Trevi Fountain against a backdrop of stars. Caress the sculptures with your eyes, following each curve, each breathtaking intricacy. Kiss for the camera, but really for love. Close your eyes and intoxicate yourself with lips and tingling breath and the sensuous rush of waterfalls at night.
Navigate the mid-morning crowds surging toward the Vatican. Weave in and out and around and through–the tourists with their guidebooks and cameras and perpetually open mouths–the devout Catholics with their quick, reverent footsteps trailing determination like a wake–the vendors with their wiry glances and blatant flouting of personal space. Join a line inside the gates, a line like an eternal wave, carrying you around and up and crashing down finally in the most sacred spot on earth.
Forget about nonessentials like speaking and thinking and breathing the instant you step inside St. Peter’s Basilica. Just see, look, gaze. Let your eyes understand lavishness for the rest of your body, at least until they overload on gold scrollwork two minutes in. Give yourself mental vertigo by realizing that people, real, living, human humans made this gargantuan cathedral, this redefinition of opulence. Get goosebumps.
Ride the Metro plastered in graffiti. Wander through the open market. Take pictures of funny signs. Ascend slowly to reality; decompress. Come, see, conquer, and leave dizzy with the hope of returning.
okay, you’ve convinced me. i’ll come.
Just bring your walking boots in case you miss your Metro! (Not that we did anything like that, especially not late at night, compelling us to walk across the entire city in the dark, even though it was a ridulously magical experience, oh no…)
I’m sorry, what? I got stopped cold by those CHEEKBONES of yours. Yowza.
This is amazingly gorgeous, yummy poetry. I love the imagery you’ve created here. And although I’ve been all of these places in my childhood, reading these words was like being there for the first time, with wisdom and experience in my head, with beauty in my heart. Thank you for taking us there through your wise, beautiful mind. I especially love “marinate in your smallness,” for oh so many reasons. xox
Lizardek – First, ::blushes:: Second, ::makes note to always walk around making kissing and/or Zoolander faces::
Frankie – Thanks for the lovely compliments! I really think that every experience with a place–whether it’s visiting for the fifteenth time or just reading about it–is a first in some ways. Part of the reason I’ll never be tired of traveling…
PDA PDA!!!!
That’s what happens when you don’t bring chaperones…