I just saw an old couple waddle past. They were holding hands. Even with the arthritis, the liverspots, the hair, the hairlessness, the yellowing, the wrinkles...even with these, they're still in love. In love through it all, in spite of it all.
It made me smile to see them. Because I want that. I want a girl to ask to marry me and then I say yes and to fast-forward to this. To hold our hands in public. Waddling in sync. Waddling in love. To kiss her sagging cheek and wrap my scrawny arm around her paining back. All for the glory, the marvel, that it might bring to a kid watching us. The smile it'll bring to him.
When I hold hands, old and decrepit, with my decaying wife. Whom I love very much. Still. Still. Through it all.
Here I am
- Some kinda four 'o' clock tragedy
- New York, NY, United States
- I am a writer. I believe all engaging writing is a precious balance between aural and visual aesthetic, emotional and intellectual depth. I am an "intense" young man, and I've yet to find someone willing to contest that claim. I am not rated G, nor is my writing. "Abandon hope, all ye who enter."