Here we are, back at our small flat on Merulana. It’s been only three days back in the city but they have felt like three months. We sleep, we laze about the streets, we do Rome our way. Today it was sitting on the wall above the Spanish Steps, the tree tops swaying at our feet while we watched a storm roll in.
It’s a strange mix of emotions being back, but I suppose all of life is. Most of all, being here makes me marvel at the opportunities constantly available back home, the control towards progress that is in our power, the consistent change if we want it.
Nothing in Rome has changed. We might have well pushed pause and returned to everything the same. The same sweet beggar woman sits outside our door, in her same spot, head pressed to the concrete, her weathered hands wrapped around the extended bowl. The same pizza man stands on the corner at 4pm and smokes on his break. The same young girl barks “busta?” to us at the grocery store. The same old gentleman with the yellow lab fills the elevator with the smell of cigarette smoke on his way out for an evening walk. From the boy at the gelateria to the Napolitan family who run the bar where we get our morning caffe and the faces of those resting on Colle Oppio benches during passeggiata, Rome remains the same.