Unwritten Words by M.J.

The streets of Italy are glossy and dark. The cobblestones reflect the Christmas lights strung above the houses on the clothes line. Italian cigarettes lay forgotten and wet in the gullies, and the air smells sweet and sharp. It is the mixture between cold air and old, Italian stones. The language floats to me as the glass door of La Bella opens. So lyrical and fluid. It is most beautiful sound that exists.
I walk quickly.
It is so cold here and none of the buildings are heated. In fact, Azzi hotel (the hotel I am currently staying at) opens the windows in December; for the rain sneaks into the walls and makes them rot. "Noi bisogno tu ottenere aria flusso!" We need to get the air flowing. I don't mind really. I love Italy. I love the cold as long as I have adequate clothes to bundle up in.
I'm an exchange student here in Fiorenze. The city where the Renaissance began. I have always felt somehow attached to this city. Everything about it seems part of me. I came here the first time when I was seven; the second time when I was eleven. It seems so long ago, looking back. The life I've lead seems so long ago. So much has change. My sister is married and has two kids now. My brother is married, too. I am not, thankfully married yet. In fact, I'm a junior in college. For years I would long to come here again. I would dream about Italy. I would cry when I couldn't stand the longing to rush onto a plane to Italy. Italy, particularly Florence feels like home. It is as if my soul resides there. So desperately I rushed through high school to get here. Now that I am, I only feel relief. My classes in art, science and literature don't start for three more weeks. But, following my mother's advice, I came early to explore. She herself had gone off the France in her Junior year of college.
It is when I am thinking these thoughts that the moment that changed my life took place.