As I was coming down the stairs from my beloved’s apartment earlier today, a neighbor came out of his apartment, as well. “Hello, youngster,” he smiled at me as we shook hands. “Hey,” I defended myself half in jest as we walked down the stairs, “I’m sixty-four!” He chuckled: “I’m eighty-seven, though!” I chuckled, too. “That’s twenty-three years only,” I tried to help after a pause required for a little bit of arithmetic. “One youth,” he quipped, “one whole youth!” I wanted to tell him that this was the age difference between my beloved and me, but I kept mum. One youth, just as he put it so admirably.