The old woman is sitting at her vanity table, frowning in front of the mirror, manipulating the deep lines she sees cradling her tired green eyes and the ample frame bordering her thin crinkled lips with her fingers like a sculptor searching for the face of a lost subject.
"Where have you gone?" She whispers, reminiscing, somewhat tearfully about her lost youthful beauty. Startling her, her husband of forty years steps into the reflection of the mirror behind her and she casts her eyes downward turning a shade of rose at the thought of him having seen her lament.
He approaches her and strokes her gray crown lovingly, then places his arthritic clenched fist softly against her cheek and says,
"I didn't marry your beautiful shell. I married your beautiful soul. My love for you is ageless."
And she looks up swallowing both of their last words spoken.