Was I afraid of growing old?

It turns out I wasn’t. I view growing old as a wonderful thing. I want to experience the process of it, to someday touch my skin and feel the thousand tiny creases that weren’t there before, to someday brush my hair that had now turned white and smile at myself from the mirror, looking into those same pair of eyes. I wasn’t afraid of it because it is the period when people start appreciating life more and more, counting the days, counting all the things you can still do, counting the littlest things in the world, or collecting small sentimental objects and placing them in a box. Memories of your childhood come back and are so clear and vivid it’s like being young again.

Can love transcend all the material things, even physical beauty? What makes someone worth loving? Is it the looks? Or is it the other way around?

Yes, love has the power to surpass everything. Familial love, romantic love and other types of love can transcend it all. True and unconditional love grows through time. The first time you meet a boy the first thing you notice is the way he grooms, dresses up, the way he carries himself, growing this sense of admiration and infatuation.

Time stretches out to months and you go deeper, fascinated by his inner beauty, his wit, his interests, his intelligence, his choice of words as he speak, his beliefs and theories, and you find yourself unbothered by anything else. You can even go as far to say that he is beautiful, not solely physically, but because of his heart and uniqueness.

You don’t love somebody because they are physically good looking and perfect, but rather you love them because of the fact that they are them. To look at the man you love when both of you are of age and still manage to fall in love with him even more, that you can even love this person blind, because that’s how beautiful he is, that’s how love is supposed to be. To treasure both his sides and still be able to love him even though the other one had faltered.

The only thing that makes a person worth loving is he, himself. Nothing else matters but that beautiful man underneath that skin.

“Love looks not with the eyes, but with the mind,
 And therefore is winged Cupid painted blind.” 
 ― William Shakespeare, A Midsummer Night’s Dream
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