03 Sep

Old upon old upon old.  Through the weary stone, mortarless brick, and cracked wood delicately cradling panes of glass, a collage of time folds together to make a building.  A building falls on another, gently touches one, molds to another, and lingering stories of past and present wear together, writing a city of old.  This one is filled with stories, added over time by those with a bellowing cry, those with only a subtle whisper, and those finding their own in between.   Each has a milieu to offer, and a song to sing for this book of old.  Old upon old upon old.  I will call it Rome, as it is said in past stories. But when I have a story to tell I will have my own name for it.  For now, I will listen to the tales of a city called Rome.