He loved the lines around her eyes.
He thought they made her even more beautiful, a delicate filigree, ringing and radiating out from her eyes like rays from a sun.
But they were also witness to all the experiences, good and bad, that made her the woman she was, the woman he loved. A visible echo of her laugh, an imprint of her easy smile.
He often found himself envious of the people who’d been there when they had been written on her face, sharing times with her that he wished he’d shared before he knew her.
Sitting opposite her as a finished his morning coffee, he looked forward to watching the lines grow, writing their own story there together.
“Will,” she said, “I’ve got something to tell you.”