Continue scrolling to load newer story


In the Adriatic Sea, hundreds of small islands, in a marshy place, make up your land. Your colors illuminate the evenings, and when the light dances across the water, the buildings showcase the hues of paint peeled back from centuries of visitors.

The sounds are few and distinct. Feet echo at any time of day as they move down your cobblestone streets. The early light brings boats of starry-eyed people to your shore. At noon, Men gather in at the corner cafes and their conversations carry through the squares. In the evenings, small choirs deliver their song with the bells. Yet the observers feel louder.

The nuances of your landscape are vast. It’s like they say when arriving: gondolas, bridges, masks, and winding, narrow waterways. We couldn’t have imagined your casual complexities until sitting on the Grand Canal, the easy sloshing of the water falling against the boats. Or perhaps wandering the opulent architecture, and the intimacy of your piazza.

History abounds. Yet it doesn’t seem to matter. Time stops, and we own a piece of it here. What we’ve found in Venice is what we imagine many artists found before us: a canvas, primed. So we add to the walls, paint the city again, and add layers that didn’t exist before. That’s the magic of this place.

We dance on your rooftops to Maruzzella — “Mm’è venuta na voglia ardente ‘e te vasá” (I’ve got a burning desire to kiss you). The full moon hangs over your purple sky and shadows the maze of yellow buildings below. Laughter drips down the walls and falls into the canals navigated carelessly by men in striped shirts with a different song. Long after the sun sets, we wander your streets and talk with drunken guests like ourselves. We throw euros at the bar and exclaim, “more Cava!” With cigarettes pursed between our lips, we speak broken Italian in the Piazza San Marco. And the city rises to meet us like it has for many before.

Food is our excuse to gather. It’s easy to sit at one of your many restaurants, but our terrace overlooks your silhouette and we are at ease, perched here. Seven flights up from the streets we are captive to your rooftops and there isn’t a significant reason to leave. We feast on wine and cheese, pasta and conversation. After all, we’ve come for you to join our company. Nightly we shift from politics and triumphs, to love and loss. We have what we need here. You provide us the atmosphere to revisit our story in the same light that many others wrote theirs. Time waits and we contemplate with you. It’s the opportunity you’ve offered us, in the hope that we leave something behind.