Roma

Rome is like a good dream I want to keep having.

The sun shines through the trees along the Tiber, lighting them a brilliant gold.

I buy an arancia from the woman at the market, and carefully count out my coins. It feels like small miracle to have accomplished this simple act.

At Volpetti in the Testaccio, I practice my Italian by naming the fillings in the chocolates, and the clerk hands me a stick of zuccine fritti as a reward.

We hold hands and follow the river home all the way home.