Thing Happened. We Laughed. We Cried. It Ended. Then It Started Again.

Sometimes, things end. They go up in flames; they meet a fiery end. Or not. They die out; they fizzle. Maybe you have 1,000 reasons why; maybe you have none. Whatever. The end.

Sometimes, these self-same things start again. For lots of good reasons, say, or perhaps none at all. The poppy opens. The chorus screeches. The (new) beginning.

It's one of those times.

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