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I'm content not crazySo it's twenty minutes past 11:11
and I just now looked at the clock.
My wish appears dimly in my head,
but the bigger secret is that I don't care what time it is anymore.
Believe me, it's not that I feel hopeless, I simply feel... average.
And average people just don't seriously believe that stars can cause happiness.
I laugh at inside jokes and
I eat crackers every morning and
I've touched boys more beautiful than you and
I read quotes that feed me the truth and
I love sitting out in the sun with a pen and
I can listen to your favorite singer again and
I don't hurt when I see you with her and
I want him to invite me to dinner if
he can make me crazy,
can he make me crazy,
I'm so afraid no one else can make me crazy.
Cause I remind me of the girl in songs who's never satisfied,
and you remind me of the boy in songs who's beautiful but so unkind.
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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