|Deviant Login||Shop||Join deviantART for FREE||Take the Tour|
Ask me stuff CLOSED FOR NOW8D Thanks all! This has been fun! I will make a journal with all the parts asap! Some still have to upload, and ill play in the last questions for the last part thank you all
I saw MizAmy do it and I wanted to try it out. I AM AKWARD ahahaaa.. I cant stay to serious! ANYWAY I'll probably do it in parts if there will be many questions and I will try to do as money as I have time for today 8D.
SO ASK AWAY under in the comment section!
- I will pronounce many things weird/usernames wrong
- there might be singing
- there will be faces..lots of faces
- there might be a cat if she decides to join me.
- THERE WILL be a stick.
BE SURE to look over the comments to see if a question has already been asked xD saves me a lot of time if people dont ask the same things ^^ Thank you!
Moving On“No.” It was all I could say, taking in the carnage of what had just last night been my pristine kitchen. I wanted to collapse onto a chair, but they – and our spacious table – were covered in miscellany. Cleaning supplies, random knick-knacks from the living room, a thermometer, a scale. It was all there, strewn about.
My legs were shaking, and I fought the urge to cry. So messy. So dirty. No, no, no. I collapsed onto the shoe bench in between the Franco Sarto and the Gucci. I don't know where Giesswein had gone. I wished I could blame it on burglars, but no.
“She's doing it again!” I called, and my husband came running into the kitchen. We watched his mother rearrange my cabinets, turning tea-cup handles to the left instead of the right. My hands twitched.
“Ma, stop it!” he said, exasperation coloring his voice. “Put these things back, they were fine where they were!”
"No," she said, her voice heavily-accented. "I will take
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
Keep in Touch!