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Happy 21st Birthday :DOf This Moment
Knight Rider: Michael x KITT
Rare is the day when Michael and KITT truly get a day off, moments to themselves. Michael pulled strings and called favors for this one; KITT doesn't know how he did it, but Devon eventually cracked and promised: short of someone back at the Foundation catching fire, there was nothing big enough to interrupt them for.
There are no real words for how much KITT appreciates it. Not to say he didn't try to find them, but Michael gently hushed him and told him it was the least he could do.
They are alone with each other and the sky above. The view is beautiful, mountains stretching off into the distance, a river flowing a short distance beneath the ledge they're parked on, the setting sun casting warm rays of light and grass blowing in the breeze-- but KITT can't bring himself to focus much on any of it.
No, his focus is directed inwards. To a gentle touch, a light brush of a hand over his steering wheel. He can't feel phys
Good Night, MoonIn the Steelhaven's room
There was a blue visor
And a blue blur too
And distantly playing, a nice, jazzy tune
And there were three Autobots sitting on cots
And two little twins and a toy plane that spins
And a cool sabetour and a lance on the floor
And a map and a brush and a box full of stuff
And a great blue Magnus who was whispering "hush"
Good night, room; good night, moon
Good night, distantly playing jazz tune
Good night, visor, and the blue blur too
Good night, Bots; good night, cots
Good night, twins, and plane that spins
Good night, sabetour, and lance on the floor
Good night, map; good night, brush
Good night, nobody, and box full of stuff
Good night to the great Magnus whispering "hush"
Good night, stars
Good night, air
Good night, noises everywhere
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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