Picturesque of a Sculpture Art.

The slightly memories; Florence, Italy.

Florence, my remembrance. Where all the memories reverse over and over at then. Like a film that is played continuously until it corrupt. In that place, where come upon the found of home to me. Raison d'etre my true self.

I'm now in the town called Florence, in a small tavern across from a slightly crowded bakery, sitting alone in a booth of a room near a sweeping window with a cup of lemon tea while scribe a story I've never told anyone. I overflow all my stories into the brown well-worn book that was in front of me right now with a sharp pen that I was holding.

All the memories that little by little occur in mind, Start shedding tears in silence as memories begin to appear in the memory, all the grief, bliss, rage. Memory warn me of all the good and bad memories, then I know, I can't just sojourn in my past I have to step forward for my future. while sipping the tea that has started to cold I start to feel relaxed and look out the big window. 🍂☕️🪟