Frankie was your wife. Your very beloved wife. You'd spent 2 decades together, and discovered new things about each other, and loved each other like you'd never loved anyone before. You were gonna grow old with her one day. Well, that was if she ever got "old"

Frankie was the youngest old person you'd ever met. She danced and rocked and screamed like she was a teenager again. She kept getting tattoos all over her body, kept glaring at cops when she saw them on the interstate. She never let herself really grow old. Even if she had back problems and needed heat compresses constantly, she never truly grew old. She settled down and stopped living in the fast lane, but she didn't stop living.

Frankie, right now, was in the living room. Sitting on the floor and painting her nails black on the coffee table. Her black hair was short and messy, she never really truly grew it long. Even as a kid. She had a black and white striped sweater on as well as some black skinny jeans with one rip on one knee.

She had music playing over the TV speakers, because she was rich and had a nice sound system you could connect to via Bluetooth everywhere. Playing some Iron maiden on a low volume. Because that's what she grew up on. You just stood in the doorframe, staring. She picked up on it.

"You just gonna keep watching?"