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Remembering the SeasonsUnder a cozy couch, she snuggled down her body wrapped in a warm blanket. Feeling the chilly wind caressing her face entering the room from an open wooden window showing the breathtaking view of the snow covered garden. Simultaneously she pressed the play button on the remote control of the DVD player. A cup of hazelnut flavored coffee held tight between her soft hands; she was watching a romantic movie. The atmosphere outside the house and the drama inside the idiot box resembled in the same frequency as fire reminds you of passion. Relationships were cold and haste between the characters and the streets were freezing and deserted. But in this bitterness, she was enjoying the heat of the summers residing in the ambience around her personal vicinity and the spring touched her heart with the flower motive embroidered on her jacket resting upon her left breast carrying the love organ.
This was the first paragraph that Mr. Teva read in the book titled Falling Leaves. The book e
She smacked the door on her boyfriend's face and walked out of his apartment, subsequently from his life and from everyone's life including her own. She didn't even take a raincoat when she knew it gotta rain. Anger does that to you. It had to shower heavily according to the weather forecast and she trusted the sources, as if prediction is true to its core and every trust isn't a betrayal. But the forecasts don't matter anymore nor the people when you know that you will die today anyways. Suicide will be her last action and she wasn't happy about that but she saw no other choice, she was desperate.
She took a train, even though she didn't know the destination. She needed time to think. She already had made her mind about the suicide but she needed to think about the medium. Medium, that will be pain free. She had suffered so many pains in her short life that her tolerance had ended long before. Only one vacant seat left on the train, she sat there beside a man older than her. She sat a
BITTER-SWEET TURNING POINTIt was New Year's Eve. That night she got a call from her lover. A call not for greetings and wishes but for a clarification, a break up. You might think that it would have been a tough night for Maria, a single woman who lived alone is one-bedroom flat in New York. If you do, you are wrong. Maria knew it would happen. Actually it should have happened before. She slapped him for his unfaithfulness and the result was loud and clear - the human ego can't handle it, she knew that. They weren't together anymore. She sacrificed her first love of her life to raise the flag of truth. Raising it higher than the pride that dwells in the skyscrapers of the New York. The bad phase was over; a fresh new beginning was waiting for her. Now she was free, she could imagine flying. It was the time for celebration. She wanted herself to be treated. Cooking held therapeutic value for here and she wanted to treat the foodie inside her with some delicious dessert so she decided to coo
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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