Continuously an early riser, I cherished lying beside my spouse, following my finger from his temple to his jaw. While he dozed, I would concentrate on the geology of his face, remembering the heavenly body of spot there, the uneven scar from rugby, the space where his sibling hit him with an etch. Each of these little abandons had a story. What’s more in cherishing him, I had learned all of them.
My bride has a square jaw, profound set green eyes and dim hair. There’s no doubt he’s an attractive man, yet more than two decades into marriage you quit recognizing the unadulterated physicality of an individual you adore. With the progression of time you see the whole of the parts, the entire picture instead of the pixels. There they are: the pieces you venerate, cohabitating with the characteristics and practices you’d like to change. That is simply genuine living.