Hair
"Shelagh dear, why are you scowling at your hairbrush?" Patrick asked gently as he slipped into the bedroom where his wife sat before the mirror.
"I'm not scowling at my hairbrush. But look at this," she held up two strands of hair, as if they were the only explanation needed, looking at Patrick in the mirror for his response to the offering. Registering his confused expression, she explained simply, "they're grey Patrick!"
He smiled as he regarded his own hair in the mirror, "I've had greys in my hair since we were wed, sweetheart, it's about time you caught up! Besides, we have three children, you're bound to get a few from stress."
Shelagh looked away, unamused, "But a man with silver in his hair looks distinguished, wise," blushing as she turned face to face with him, "and remarkably handsome. But for me, it's just a sign of getting old and becoming less beau-
Patrick knelt before her, silencing her words with a kiss while driving both his hands into her hair, massaging her scalp with his fingertips. "First of all, you are beautiful no matter what color any of the strands of your hair are," this point was reiterated with kisses along her hairline, "and second of all, I love seeing your hair turn grey, do you know why?"
Shelagh shook her head slowly, relishing the way it caused Patrick's fingers to tangle in her hair, prompting her own fingers to go unbidden to brush the locks of his hair away from his forehead. Her hands seemed to be as unruly as his hair with how seldom she could stop herself from touching it.
"Every grey hair means you're a little bit older," his pointed look cut off her huff of protest, allowing him to continue, "I want to see you grow old, your hair glistening with silver. Shelagh, I'm grateful for each silver strand, because they represent the moments of a life I only ever dreamed I could have. Because every day I see you older means I got to spend one more day of my life with you."