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one year of dislocation. can you make a story out of that? i hope so. this is my story, this is my quandary.
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.
I want to be, pure.