The Price of Dreams


As the crowds cleared the smokey, dim-lit arena, Joe sat on the edge of the stage softly crooning the first song he ever wrote; her song.

It had launched him into the spotlight; a whirlwind of gigs, the fame, awards and accolades and fawning groupies that he had dreamed of when he plucked that first lick on a second-hand guitar.

But dreams die hard when the road is your mistress, home is an empty shell and all that is left of her is a song.

~kat

For Sonya’s Three Line Tale Challenge based on this photo by Paulette Wooten via Unsplash.


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