Here

Here everything has some sort of hidden history. The curve of a building is a telltale sign of the ancient foundations of a theatre or bath. The marble pillars of a church have been pillaged from an ancient monument years upon years ago.
Here getting stamps from the post office takes an hour. You have to wait in line with everyone else who is mailing packages and letters and if at first you are confused because everyone is standing around randomly and there is no line to speak of, it is because you are expected to take a number.
Here the people in the street who are asking those more fortunate for money do not pester and call out, but rather kneel or lie prostrate in an attitude of prayer. They may hold a rosary or have clasped hands, and their eyes are always closed, and they sit there like statues waiting for generous passers-by.
Here there are rules about when you should eat or drink certain things, and how you should take your meals. You are not supposed to drink coffee with milk in it after lunch time, and if you want a drink to go that's really just too bad. You should not sit down at a table unless you wish to pay a euro more for every item you buy, you must pay for some things up front, and some things you will get a check. Do not try to go shopping between the hours of one and three, everything will be closed for lunch, and do not start dinner until eight at least.
Here people have entire conversations across the campo just by waving their arms and shouting a bit. The vendors sing to themselves as they set up their stands, and shout at random to each other, I assume to discuss very important things about the selling of wonderful fruit, or to warn each other that another dumb tourist is approaching. There is a hand gesture to accompany every situation, and when speaking Italian you must use your entire face and open your mouth up wide.
Here you will walk three feet from a sparkling white fountain lit tastefully and well maintained since the baroque period, and suddenly everything will be painted some shade of gold and covered in graffiti. Taggers run rampant here, and every available, non-ancient surface is covered in colorful scrawls of spray paint.
Here all cafes are called bars, and they come equipped with outdoor seating. These areas are sometimes covered by giant umbrellas and are dotted with tall heating lamps which make sitting outside in the cold quite pleasant. Children, far from being dressed in rags, wander among the tables. Little girls with braided hair carry bunches of tulips to sell, and little boys with high voices play accordions and sing in Italian and hold out their hats.
Here everyone seems to know that you do not speak Italian before you even open your mouth. And they all speak enough English to make you feel like you should really know more of their language, just to be polite.
Here wandering the streets always gets me lost, and always makes me feel like an explorer. There are so many Piazzas and monuments and churches and little shops to keep me occupied, and I end up spending a lot of time wandering.
Here is somewhere I have been for a whole week now.
Here I take classes and drink coffee and sleep and eat and live.
Here is a perfect place to be.