She met him one October day,
When autumn winds had lost their way.
Leaves whispered secrets down the street,
And fate, unasked, had planned their meet.
He smiled the way the sun might rise
On empty fields and hollow skies.
He spoke like pages dipped in gold,
Of futures warm, of hands to hold.
She, fragile as a half-healed scar,
Believed his voice, his...
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