Wrinkles
When I'm old, I want laughing wrinkles to form like the rings inside tree trunks, collecting wisdom, and age over time, but telling a story of the series of heart aches, and trials and how they were washed away by joy, of being loved by a loving being, and the feeling of every problem being a mole hill. They will leave their mark on my skin, carved with the utmost care. I want the world to see that my sadness never became a part of me, but my smiles did.