Beginning.

I pray

We are

Buried in a

Bed of roses

With holes above

Us to feel the wind

Sweep through graves

Whistling sweet stories of

Our life time and jokes about

This unending fear of death

Just so we laugh quietly

Because this little fear

of an internal end

Was only the

beginning.

Doesn’t the idea of growing old with someone just make your heart melt?

*Pinterest Photo*

Mind of a frantic poet. Ambition of an entrepreneur. The heart of an old soul.

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