It was the beginning disguised as the end, as the lives scattered around the sky, as stars reminding us that we were just a blinking remnants of the past. It was tough. and the last word... didn't exist. The last paragraph, and the last dot, completing the story, didn't exist, because I waited for him.
As his life had become infinite, so had the story. There was no end, just a beginning that had already started before I met the Pogues. It was fate, twinkling the line of reality with the understandings of the universe. There was no definite start, nor a definite end. It was liniar, as was our story.
