#53: Idiosyncrasies.

The pencil she sticks into her bun every morning, without fail. The ring he wears on his right hand, a gift from his late father. 
The way she reacts to the conversations she has in her head, with smiles and giggles. The little tunes he sings to himself, a remnant of his days in choir.
Her laughter lines. His greying temples.
Their days becoming their forever.

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