Florence is gorgeous. It really is, in all the cliche ways you can think of, a most romantic city. 

The people are incredibly friendly, especially if you at least try to speak some basic Italian, and they’re gorgeous. It seemed everywhere we looked we saw very handsome men and beautiful women. 

My friend and I had just finished a fabulously decadent meal and decided to go for an evening walk. The air was refreshing and our night’s cocktails kept us cozy while we wandered through high walls into the large open square of St. Mark.

There were a lot of people taking advantage of the weather and we found ourselves among many teenagers, tourists and lovers taking in the scene, admiring the reliefs and generally lounging about on cobblestone steps and in entry ways.

Statues of battles and gods, brave men and sighing women told their tales from their marbled effigies and flowerpots sang out brilliant colors of well tended blooms. 

I thought how easy it would be to fall in love in such a magical setting.  I was without an admirer and even I felt like I was floating on a cloud. It’s just that kind of place. 

We walked past one couple, eating gelato and talking in that hushed, shy manner of a first or second date, a little reserved, a little eager. Trying not to give too much heart too soon. I don’t think either of them stood a chance against Cupid’s determined arrows.   Florence gives Love the automatic upper hand.

I imagined how many thousands of couples have walked where we were walking, letting themselves get swept up in all the romance. How many kisses began and ended on the very spot I stood. 

In that moment, I was in love with Love. And who knows, maybe one day I’ll come back to Florence, get that kiss from a sweetheart and a smile from the gods, and I will join the millions who’ve come before me. A girl tends to these dreamy thoughts in Florence. It’s just that kind of place.

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