Lost in Venice's Maze
I wandered through Venice’s winding alleys, the kind that twist and turn until you forget where you started. The air was thick with the scent of canal water and old stone. Suddenly, I turned a corner and found myself in a tiny square, the kind you never see in travel brochures. It was eerily quiet—no tourists, just a lone painter capturing the golden light on the crumbling walls.
But here’s the twist: the painter wasn’t painting the scenery. He was painting me, as if he’d been waiting for someone to stumble into his frame. I felt exposed, like a character in someone else’s story. The scene was beautiful, but unsettling. I realized Venice isn’t just a city of romance—it’s a place where you can lose yourself, and maybe never find your way back.
Some say Venice is dying, sinking a little more each year. But in that moment, it felt more alive than ever, with secrets lurking around every corner. I left the square changed, haunted by the feeling that I’d become part of Venice’s endless, mysterious painting.
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