the tabloids said he could have any girl he wanted, but in the space between each note he plucked on his guitar echoed the pain of knowing he could never have her.
in the summer there was love, and my heart was an open road. we could have rolled on for ever. but the days became short, and winter came too soon, and the land is blanketed with snow. no two snowflakes drifting through my hands are identical, but they obliterate the ground all the same.
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