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Scars and LoveSome things exist deeper within us than we know.
The scars...scars upon scars
they carve a voidful cavern,
interlaced with barriers that trigger in an automatic way.
We loathe the damage they create but feel powerless to stop them.
We watch helplessly as they chase away threats to our vulnerability.
We pray for the will to overcome them or some hero to save the day.
A hero who has their own fears to conquer, we all do.
And yet within these murky depths resides love.
A love that reaches out and connects, knows no discrimination.
Persists in the face of all assaults,
sees value where the scars assert it missing.
This love is unending, pure, and never lets go.
We are not dark or light but both.
Within this lies our tragedy, when we exist as our own greatest foil.
But also our greatest beauty.
Redemption is always but a heartbeat away,
...if we could just learn to get out of our own way.
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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