A Week In Rome | AWI series |✔

» monday

Rome smelled like coffee, flowers, and the way that the ground smells after being kissed by raindrops.

Strapped to my shoulders was a backpack full of everything I'd brought with me. Inside it: two t-shirts, a pair of jeans, underwear, a phone charger, and, for some reason, I'd thrown in the pack of peanut butter crackers. They'd been sitting on my dresser for weeks and I guess I'd figured I'd bring a snack.

My heart raced, pumping in my ears as I lagged behind the tourists and overly-enthusiastic tour-guide. After leaving the airport, I had spotted a tour group of maybe fifteen people boarding a bus. And as any totally sane person would do, I hopped on along with them.  

I came to Rome with no idea where to go and no idea where to even stay. A part of me was still numb from the events of two days ago, so I couldn't be blamed for my carelessness. Actually, some would blame me.

Rome was different from my city back home. Both were crowded and busy, but both in extremely different ways. Rome had a certain rustic aspect to it. The architecture and cobble buildings around every corner were beautiful— it was difficult not to admire everything in the city, from the people and the way they dressed, to the buildings and how they told the stories they held.

Excitement buzzed in my mind as I continued following the group, tuning out the man who kept speaking and speaking, not allowing us to stand and admire one sight before moving on to the next.

The group consisted mostly of couples. Of course. Who comes to such a romantic city alone? Even though they couldn't possibly know anything about my life, I couldn't help but think that it was sympathy in their eyes as they watched me stand alone. 

My first day in a strange city was not what I'd expected it to be. Someone once told me that traveling alone was exhilarating, but each second I spent breathing the foreign air was slightly painful. Nobody knew me here, and the person who knew me the most was probably out of my life forever.

"And over here, we have the Ponte Cavour!" The man leading the tour threw his hands in the air, a smug smile on his lips as he stared at each person in the group.

Many times, I found him flirting with some of the girls on the tour. And at times that his predatory eyes met mine, I'd simply avoid them.

He walked with his crooked nose stuck up in the air, his shoulders back, and spoke to us as if we were... well, dumb.

"This stone bridge," he pressed, "was built around..."

His words got lost somewhere in the wind as my feet carried me away from the tour group. I was mesmerized, and every doubt that had been in my mind seconds ago was now termporarily gone.

I ran my fingers down the stone surface of the rough edge. The structure seemed so strong, yet so delicate. The water that succumbed its bottom half was still, except for the occasional small waves caused by the breeze. It swayed side by side, as did my blurry reflection.

From where I stood, I could see rows of what seemed to be ancient buildings and cathedrals. Somewhere in the distance, the music of a flute swam in the air, filling my ears with pleasure. I closed my eyes and tightened my fingers on the stone. The breeze danced with my long, brown hair as a smile slipped onto my lips.

This was it. This was the type of freedom that my heart desired. As I stood there, I realized that it wasn't such a bad thing that no one knew me. I didn't have obligations. No restrictions.

I could hear the faint chattering of the tour group behind me fading. I could've spent an entire day on the bridge that they'd only "admired" for minutes.