Beginnings have no limits.
As the old pair huddle over used beer crates,
like young lovers under grey clouds. Flashing by with a flick of the head, a corner of the eye, a chance happening. No hearts will be dropped, no voices heard, no memories made. Not a soul will feel the questions and memories in their eyes, as they connect and stare. All that will be remembered by their stained minds is the beginning of it all and the beleaguered perfect beauty within. For when the tears are shed, the soil will not console. All they will have. A beginning.
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