| | To love someone in that holding-hands-when-you’re-80 sort of way. To look at a lined face and sun spots, grey hair and wrinkled skin, and see those beautiful eyes that don’t look quite the same, but have never really changed because all of the love and care and memories of the years gone by radiate out like warm rays of sunlight absorbing into your time-weathered skin and melting into your heart. I’m not saying anyone can forget those hard times, those rough patches, those bumps in the road, but afterwards, in the end, you are still holding hands, side-by-side, because nothing can tear apart two determined, self-sacrificing hearts. Perhaps I’m just a starry-eyed, idealistic fool, but whenever I see an old couple walking down the street holding hands looking snug as two bugs in a rug, I can’t help but smile and hope that 50 years down the line, I’ll be walking down the street with my love’s hand in mine.
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| | Posted 3/25/2006 8:12 PM - 2 comments
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