Sarah is in Rome for her summer holiday this year, and I envied her so much. Well, it was a fleeting feeling because I know how she wishes I were with her there. We used to talk a lot about going to Italy together.
“Greet Francesco Totti for me,” I said.
“Totti or Pope?” she asked.
“Nah, just Totti,” I answered. I’m not a big fan of Pope, anyway.
On the second day she was still thinking about me, by sending another sms, asking who my most fave player was. She said she was looking for another birthday gift, because the one she previously sent, unfortunately, never showed at my door (due to the unreliable service of our postal system). I told her not to bother, because like Teresa said, it’s the thought that really counts.
Suppose I were in Rome, I will not sing the song Home like Michael Bubble does.
Another summer day, has come and gone away,
So is Paris and Rome
But I just wanna go home
Because I don’t think I will ever want to go home if I were in Rome. So, I’ll change the last sentence (I sang other verses just the same when I am on the survey trips, and when couldn’t help missing home).
The first time I’ll do there, is running to the famous Fontana di Trevi, throwing three coins (who knows the Prince will suddenly come riding his white horse?), and shed a tear or two there. And after I’m finished with all the sentimental stuff, I’ll run to Olimpico to be a freaky tifosa. Maybe then I’ll be lucky enough to see Totti or De Rossi.
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