"Just blame Rome..."

Rome, you're no good for me.

You make me crazy, make me laugh hysterically one minute and want to cry hysterically the next. I make decisions that don't make sense to me, do ridiculous and impractical things, and when I wonder "why?" out loud, all I'm told is to blame you.

You--with all of your inconsistency, your chaos, your completely disarming and yet charming sense of beauty. There is no place like here, no place like you, and you know it. You are proud, but not cocky; regal and majestic; ancient and full of wisdom--wisdom you don't share easily. You know what's gone on before, and you know that it's not worth the trouble to deal with it again. You don't even have to try; you are content to exist, to just be. You understand that being is an art grander than the Pantheon, the Trevi Fountain, or even St. Peter's. Rome, you know how to live.

Rome, you're no good for me; you make me weak, lower my defenses, let me stumble, leave me exhausted. You push me around, and when that's not enough for you, you knock me down on my face. You shape me; you make me. I get sucked in by your mystery and your romance, and you spit me back out laughing, making me stand up on my own two feet again. You have taught me passion, to live in the moment, to seize adventure with both hands and take off running.

Oh, Rome, we've had less than four months together, but a lifetime wouldn't be enough for you. After all, you're the Eternal City--you've been here for thousands of years before me, and you'll still be here after me. In a city of this scale, I never thought I'd really get my hands on you, but I've made pieces of you my own. And I haven't left yet, but before I do, I'm leaving a piece of myself here too. I'll be the girl in the dress sitting on the cobblestones of St. Peter's Square, gazing up at the Basilica with a cone of gelato in my hand, still as completely in awe of you as I was my first night here back in August. Others may not see me, but a memory of me will always remain; you'll know I'm there, and that's enough.

Oh, Rome, you're no good for me, but I've loved you relentlessly all the same. I've defended you, and I keep coming back to you over and over again. You're intoxicating, and you draw me back in every time--from the alleys of Trastevere to Via del Corso and back to Monte Mario. Somehow my roads have led me to you, and I can't escape--and I don't want to.

You have given me everything, but you've taken all of me too. I can't get enough of you because there will never be enough. You're everything, and you're definitely too much for me.

Oh, Rome, you have been so good for me.

-megan

"... Each, in its own way, was unforgettable. It would be difficult to - Rome! By all means, Rome. I will cherish my visit here in memory as long as I live." --Roman Holiday