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BlAm - Welcome HomeThere was an almost uncharacteristic quiet around the apartment complex, the typically windy part of town was still and Blaine watched the sky, quietly bored, but somewhat excited. Today was going to be good, she was sure of it.
Her eyes scanned the sky for any clouds that made familiar shapes, but they all just looked like fluff. She wished briefly that she'd told her soon-to-be-roomie to come earlier. Blaine had readied her two bedroom apartment for the other's arrival and found that it hadn't taken nearly as long as she'd expected it to.
So now she sat on the balcony, her eyes flitting between the parking lot and the sky above. She wanted to see her friend soon.
The minutes passed and felt like hours before she turned her eyes down at the sight of motion. A silver Honda pulled into the parking lot and she got to her feet, watching the vehicle from her place on the second floor.
The driver's side door opened and Blaine couldn't hold back a smile when her friend Sam stepped out of the
The End of The WorldThe normal lunchroom chatter faded into nothing, it was quiet, and soon the silence was replaced by wind. A sharp gust ruffling my clothes in every direction. It was quiet again, though I could still feel the wind, and the empty white space around me rustled like tree leaves. The wind slowed, eventually stopping and the sound of teenagers talking began to flood back into my senses.
"Marc," a voice called my name. My world began to turn, going from it's blinding white it began to grow colors, slowly returning me back to reality, where the voice was given a body and the chatter was given a crowd.
I stared at the girl before me, waving a piece of paper in my face. "Earth to Marcus," She said, with a hint of worry. "Come on, you're freaking me out." She reeled back the hand with the paper and ditched the parchment, opting to poke my face and pinch my cheeks.
I regained control of my body and quickly swat her hand away, shaking the day dreamy mist from my head and taking the paper off the t
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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