Ingrid Michaelson sings about it, the beatles sang about it and we saw it in fruition today. Not to say that it’s very uncommon, but it was beautiful and amazing nonetheless.

When the number of wrinkles on my face are almost equal to the number of hairs left on my head, would there be someone who still thinks I’m beautiful and amazing?

Liz and I saw this couple on the bus today. The little old lady sat snuggled up to her older husband and they watched the world go by. I watched them and wondered: what were they like when they were younger? were they more loving? more affectionate? more “good-looking”? May be they were. But the way she looked endearingly up to him and the way they seemed to almost finish each other’s sentences was quite something to behold. It wasn’t all perfect and lovey dovey. At one moment she must have said something that seemed positively ridiculous to her husband but quite in her character for he just frowned a bit and answered/corrected her. But it was all quite normal, or so it seemed anyway.

Is there someone whom we can be absolutely honest with? Grow so close and old with them that they know every single dirty little habit we have but still want to hold our hands on that cold bus ride. Is there someone we can know all those amazing things about? Someone who will ultimately be as vulnerable with us as we are with them? A single glance, a squeeze of the hand, a whiff of their cologne, a sigh from their lips and we know it all. Their thoughts, feelings, troubles. We know it and we know just what to do.

Someone to grow with. Someone to live with until it is quite impossible to do otherwise. Someone to be one with.

I hope I find that person.