Wandering through the dark corridors of the Colosseum, I felt the weight of history pressing down like the countless footsteps that had echoed through these halls before mine. A thousand years ago, others had walked this same path—gladiators, spectators, emperors—all long gone, their stories etched into the cold, unyielding stone. The towering walls, weathered by time yet still standing, reminded me that this place would endure for centuries beyond my fleeting existence. Lost in the enormity of time, I turned a corner and found myself at the base of a staircase. It led upward, bathed in radiant light, a stark contrast to the shadows behind me. In that moment, I felt something deeper than awe—hope. I imagined those before me, emerging from darkness into this same brilliance, feeling the same pull toward something beyond themselves. As the sun illuminated my path, I stepped forward, knowing I was just another soul in the Colosseum’s endless story.