I thought I understood magic—
Until I sat at a wobbly café table near the Pantheon as the sky faded from gold to deep blue. The air smelled like fresh bread and strong coffee. Laughter drifted from a nearby trattoria, where locals argued playfully over a soccer match. No guides. No plans. Just me, a glass of red wine, and two thousand years of stories under my feet.
That’s Rome.
Not a postcard. Not a museum. A living, breathing soul.
Toss a coin into the Trevi Fountain at sunrise, when the streets are still quiet and the city feels like it’s yours. Wander through narrow alleys where laundry sways like flags between homes. Eat cacio e pepe at a little spot where the pasta hugs you back.
In Rome, history doesn’t just surround you—
It sits beside you, smiles, and says, “Mangia.”
Create this in a single photo make sure words look good
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