after thirty days, you get so used to your living conditions you forget how you lived your life previously. but it has been more than thirty upon thirty upon thirty days, and i can't forget her or get used to the hole she has left in me.
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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