I anticipate the sunshine on the redness

Of his hair.
I can't remember the day I noticed there was no longer brilliant red that I love so much. White streaks and replaced the highlights of golden. And then as time has grown more white. Have we love this long?
One day in conversation my husband asked how old he was. He said he was 55. I didn't realize we were so close in age. I had always thought him younger than I much younger. I anticipate a visit from him if time allows. It's Thursday. At night I can hardly sleep in anticipation of the possibility. I love that has no structure, no meaning in the world, but he's my very life and breath.