I always feared I would die with a face of porcelain with no evidence of a life lived. No wrinkles by my mouth from too many smiles, no lines framing my eyes from too many days spent squinting in the warm sun. A few months back, I met a man and I saw in his face the lines of a journey. I saw a life. The first night we met, we walked around lower Manhattan for far too long so said the blisters on my feet.