Dear Florence,

I could easily say that I miss everything about you. Of course, it's rational to miss your beauty. The busy streets lined with cafes and boutiques nestled inside miles and miles of rolling hills. The effortless allure. The cathedrals and museums that can only be described as "breath-taking." Do you understand how difficult it is to describe to someone just exactly how you felt standing there looking at paintings done by Caravaggio and Leonardo da Vinci, or to describe just exactly how much power Michelangelo's David has over an entire room? I don't believe that you understand the hardship you've left me with.

I remember stepping foot on Italian ground, scared that I wouldn't be able to function correctly in a foreign country. I remember walking into my apartment and staring at the awkward bathtubs with showerheads, and trying to figure out how to flush the toilet must have taken me at least 10 minutes. I remember the beds being pushed together upon our arrival. I remember walking into the supermarket down the street and being completely lost, grabbing handfuls of pasta and sauce because they were the only items we could actually recognize.

What I would give to be completely baffled by your architecture as I walked down the cobblestone streets once more. I remember walking through Mercato Centrale trying helplessly not to buy everything I laid eyes on. I remember the relentless tease of gelato shops on every corner. I remember the flower man, though I never learned his name, who never failed to give me a flower (or 4) from his bundle just for smiling at him.

I guess, if anything, I should thank you. Thank you for my wonderful roommates, three other American girls lost in Italy, now my friends for life. Thank you for the caring family you gave me, full of wait staff, merchants, and business owners who helped me have the time of my life while making sure I was always safe and sound. Thank you for opening my eyes to what's really out there -- the culture, the food, the art -- and allowing me to experience every bit to its fullest.

What do I do now? I suppose I can sit here and reminisce, or I can talk someone's ear off with stories. I try -- really, I do -- but no matter how many memories I share, they'll never really understand unless they experience you for themselves.

As for me? Well, I'll see you again someday.

Best,
Alex