A Roman-tic Tiff

I don't think Rome is to blame, but I don't think it's all my fault either.
The two of us simply didn't hit it off.
I guess you could say we're just not on the same wavelength.


Rome is beautiful, sexy and charming, and it has a great body. Of course, I see that.

Rome is trying really hard to impress me... but that kind of in-your-face flirting just doesn't do it for me.
"Look," I sigh, "I know you have history. I know the treasures you're offering are unique. I can even see the success you're having with everyone else around here. But... don't be offended, OK? I just think we're not suited, you and I."

For the sake of politeness, I hang around a while and chat. I try to be open-minded, I listen to what Rome has to say, I nod politely and smile.
I dig a little deeper, searching for the common ground that will cause us to click, lock eyes and fall in love.
But the sparkle doesn't seem to materialise.
I'm just going through the motions: my heart is untouched.

Finally, Rome shrugs its shoulders, lets me go.
"No hard feelings!" it promises cheerfully as we say goodbye over a last ice-cream.
When our bowls have been licked clean, I weave my way gratefully through the crowd of admirers, searching for the train that will take me home.


Still, Rome's pride has been hurt by my gentle letdown: it spitefully declines to display the platform number for my train, forcing me to rush, panic and finally leave in a flurry of uncertainty.
Hum, that wasn't so very Christian of you now, was it?

The thing is though, it was never really going to happen between Rome and me.
The fact is, there's someone else.
An old flame, if you like. Someone who, when I saw him again after my brief flirt with Rome, seemed only to have grown in charm and attractiveness.

Ah Paris! My dearest France! The years pass... and yet my heart still pounds when I see you again.