It is a rainy Sunday morning coming down. We are in a distant state, caring for a family in need. We are pushing our limits, using up physical resources, bending our backs to the plow, setting our feet to the needs, hands to the task. We have become old, not in essence but in the present. Our hearts and souls don’t feel we are, but our bodies do. We are young and filled with great hopes and desires, encased in bodies worn and weathered. Our hearts are so free, so silly in our joinings to each other, memories of adventures, all day and nighters, on the edge, racing for the brass ring. We have beheld Him, lived in His presence, seen His glories, and now, aged and bent, our meaning is a great aching in our hearts of knowing who we were is still who we are. My lover and I. We are again...pushing our limits.
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