When I'm sixty-four. Even.

This morning, I woke up early. I can't seem to turn my clock off, so I keep on waking up early, even when there is no real reason to do so.

Jason was still sleeping, his back to me.

I remembered his mom saying to me once, in reference to how long my parents had been married, "I can't imagine having to look at the same face every day for fifty years!"

I traced the curve of his back with my hand, the way I've done a million times before. He made a happy noise, in his sleep, and snuggled further into the pillow.

I never thought I would marry this man. Never in a million years. He was twenty-three when we met, single and living in a bachelor pad. I was twenty-four and divorced and had two infants at home. He was anti-marriage. I wasn't anti-marriage, but I wasn't looking for anything serious either. I was never, ever going to marry him. It didn't make sense. He was a boy. A boy to have fun with, not marry.

But I always thought I would remember him. I would remember the curve of his back while he slept. I would remember the way he smiled. I would remember how he hurt me also, and how much it sucked, but how much it helped me too. How very real it all felt and how powerful that someone could hurt me quite that much. He changed my life...he changed me, forever.

We were both twenty-seven when we married. July 12th, 2003. Fifty years from that date we'll be seventy-seven years old. That is, if we live that long, which is not likely, given my husband's pack a day cigarette habit and my propensity for extremely bad luck. I probably will never even get the opportunity to look at the same face every day for the next fifty years.

But I could. If I had the chance. I really could.