November 22, 2020:
Signs of her aging have begun to surface.
Her skin is dry, there are hints of tight lines around the eyes.
She's lovely. But now there's newly an air of the inevitable.
To me, triggering onion layers of sadness, layer after layer, having more to do with me than her, the lost time, the lost opportunities, unrequited love, and now a certain undeniable aesthetic letdown, the sadness cherry atop a sadness sundae, where once she was so infinitely depthlessly breathtakingly beautiful.
I am confident, I will never stop loving her, with loyalty and regret, and now perhaps just the tiniest hint of reduced desire, from this day as all other days to the end of my days.