There were fine lines and wrinkles in the creases of the fingers, and though I have no indication of the bodies attached to them, I could tell that those two hands probably match two happy faces, adorned with the lines of lingering smiles after years of laughing and loving and hand-holding. They match the fine lines of crows feet around four crinkled, squinty eyes that have shed happy tears at babies births and funny tears at inside jokes and relieved tears at knowing everything is going to be alright. That's the way things ought to be. I'm not saying that things are happy and blissful all the time, there are probably a few wrinkles from furrowed brows and the occasional frown at a misbehaving child or a dinner date forgotten. But I choose to believe the smile lines run deeper. And you should have someone's hand to hold when things get rough. Or when you're fingers are icy and it's November and nobody else is ready for Christmas but you're making your way to the tree lot. There should be a warm pocket for those two hands to share and there should be a big part of you that wishes your whole self could fit inside that little pocket, because truthfully, a big part of your heart and soul resides in that cozy spot already.
"If you're in love it ought to make you happy. You ought to laugh." F. Scott Fitzgerald.
That's the way things ought to be.
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