There’s a family. There’s the Pantheon, the Colosseum. There’s gelato smeared across the lips of the youngest child. It’s a picture-perfect moment, or simply a moment captured in a picture—because the oldest doesn’t eat & she has mommy issues & daddy issues & begs for a forgiveness that never should have been taken & the boy is blasting “Goodbye Yellow Brick Road” on the sidewalk & he fumbles with the cross around his neck & This boy’s too young to be singing the blues & he repeats repeats behaviors over and over & so does his sister & they’re obsessive & compulsive & definitely have a disorder & only one of them recognizes it & everyone can benefit from therapy & the middle child can’t help but feel like a liar because she is one & and she only knows how to write about bad things & a year ago, most of them didn’t want to wake up & today, some of them still wish they didn’t & the father didn’t appreciate his wife until he was leaning over her open casket & the bitch of a dog cries more than he ever could & they all took “everyone can benefit from therapy” a little too literally & now they’re in Rome with gelato & that’s a lie.