My eyes are wide open to embrace the wrinkles which are slowly creeping into the corners where my lashes extend. The calligraphy of thousands of smiles. My hair twists and knots in anticipation for the palette which will color the strands heather grey. Proof of a life that has lived within my locks. An authentic life not to be dismissed by artificial dye. My hands clasp together to pray that they will see a day where brown spots cover my skin from shoulder to finger tip. The sun has a strange way of loving us back, but it reminds us it has for years. My legs take me an extra mile so they can rest when an extra step feels impossible. Frailty feels a bit more satisfying once strength has been exerted completely. My ears soak up their favorite pieces of music at a volume level too high. One day they will not hear arguments or sobs because the beauty was too loud. My heart is decorating the rooms where my great-grandchildren will reside. My mind sighs knowing one day love and innocence will be as natural to me as it was on the day I was born. My soul, with each second, becomes more acquainted with Death. And when we are best friends a century from now, my spirit will recite my thankful tale. And Life will be the former companion, who treated me right without fail.

I'll hold your hand through the wizened wrinkles; even if your beautiful mind will eventually crinkle.
Crinkled & crumpled into creases too deep for sunshine to peek through.
(My fingertips will still slowly but surely fix it.)

Even when the hair tickling my bare shoulders, collarbones & necks on lazy sunday morning is no longer quite the same.

I'll be right here.