In one month, I have been lucky enough to breathe far from the small town  sometimes hesitate to call home

In Rome, the street lamps were endless and oozed romance like handsome strangers serenading in front of restaurants, and my name bouncing off all those brick walls, even the alleys begged my glance for just a little bit longer

On the nights where the rain beating against the brick walls blended in with our sleepy chaos, I could see myself crumbling into every corner of this country. I could melt into the rain, and ******* did I ever want to.

And I think I left my heart somewhere between the crumble of Pompeii to the rooftops of Sorrento, maybe somewhere on the cobblestone of Orvietto or the puddles of Rome , on the bridges of Florence, between all those hushed conversations, maybe while all held on to each other, honestly at this point I can't say I care to remember.

Now south where it taste like home, and this altitude high swings my hips like nothing else I've ever known, I walk with the rhythm of my family's stories on these very streets, and I like the bit of grown I've only but tasted. And this all too latin warmth could swallow me up if I let it.


And I just might let it.