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"Wake up.."Days in. Days out. She stared. She waited. She sat there, and expected him to open one eye and smile. Her family was beginning to become concerned. His band mates seemed a bit on edge too. Countless of projects and ideas and dreams had gone down the drain, after one little incident.
That one little motherfucking incident had put James Paris Stephenson into a coma and nearly broke Ryokos heart.
Renegades fashion designer and entrepreneur had given up on a majority of her dreams. Now only one remained, and that was for James to wake-up and live and remember. Wake up, remember, live. Was it really that hard? A week until graduation. She wanted him there. A week from when she proved to not be nearly legal, but actually legal. A week. She had to wait a week before she could smile. It made her eyes sting, but they never fell. Fauxhawks, no more, now a choppy depressing brown mop upon the girls head, usually bright eccentric green eyes now
Volpi.You will find that the story you tell
is very rarely your own. In Lucca,
even the smallest pebbles
breathe in the warm sunlight.
Knotted stones and cobbled roads
beat out a paper-dry heartbeat heat
my city breathes in and out,
inhales sparrow air.
It's writing a story.
You are the pen.
You will find that in Lucca
the daisy chains forge fire
in side streets and back alleys.
Teenagers intertwine. Tell me,
odd flower, are you still closed?
Here we are colored wax;
the heat of the city melts us.
We run into each other, rhapsody
of pigments. Operas are our specialties.
Open up; feel the reds.
If not, try and see them. There is a place
of deep knife marks, a street
long as midnight
you may learn something there.
Valentina's voice glimmers like red wine.
You may enjoy intoxications. Still,
know alcohol has no story
and will swallow your own.
Find the sign with the wolf on it.
You'll know the place. Epiphanies ring true as church-bells.
Lucca still guides the wanderers
to well sp
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