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Things I see around me are more beautiful than anything I've ever seen before.
I'm feeling light. Yes. I'm just like a feather in air. Air like no other.
Above me there are birds flying in the vast sky and singing a song more
touching than any song my ears have ever recorded.
Beside me the trees are touching the heavens while being stuck on the ground.
Such large trees. No withered ones.
Something this marvelous not being destroyed by mankind. How is that possible?
I'm not sensing any hate here, no one swearing, no one hurting anyone.
This place is the one single place I've been searching for so long and now that
I've finally found this I realise that this ain't the place where I should stay.
No one should.
So I keep on walking forward...
Then I reach the next location. I take a look around me and what I see is
not anything like the previous place I visited.
Here I can sense no happiness, no laughter, no joy.
This place is filled with hate and anger. Th
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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