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I was looking at him yesterday. He was talking about something, I don’t clearly remember what, because I was too busy looking at him to really listen.
His eyes were sparkling in their majestic brown way. His high cheek bones were so beautifully holding his smiling cheeks. The notes played by his deep voice danced around me as his masculine hands moved in unison, trying to get across whatever point I couldn’t hear…
Because I was too busy studying his face.
His face. The face of my husband.
My eyes were drawn to his greying beard; the strength of his jawline now layered with the years that he has been blessed with. The years that WE have been blessed with. I find the contrast of his dark skin, peppered with the salt of time and experience, so incredibly sexy.
And then..
In the midst of all the admiration I was feeling for him in that moment, and all the mixed emotions I have about the progressive fading in my own hair, and all the refection on the joys and pains of our twenty-two years together, another thought crossed my mind:
While both are incredible gifts, there is a BIG difference between finding that someone you want to grow old with – and actually growing older with that someone.
Real talk.
Thank You, Creator.
