In the quiet of night he silently turns, automatically, into my awaiting arms, filling that space that seems designed only for him. The moment is loaded with recognition and gratitude as his scent fills my heart and his body fills my soul. There is no way to describe his smell or how he achieves it, but I know it is only his and would be found by me where ever it is. The preceding silence is now full of a momentary rapture…a perfect fit…an alignment confirming the rightness of my life, at least in this segment and in this moment. His hair brushes against my face like a thousand flowers, inhaling my spirit in its unruly thrall, lashing my cheeks with permanence and peace.
The comfort I feel in this moment has been built of many intimate moments that were anything but intimate. I could collapse in his arms, like an awaiting hammock because of his everyday thoughtfulness, his daily considerations, his love eruptions. Though he takes care of himself, he always seems to have me in the forefront of his mind, in the supportive caring way that mothers have with their children. Yet not in the same protective inequality of a parent to child but in a cooperating expectation of like responses, that fills each day with gifts of support.
For some, being together for so long implies acquiescing to a rut of coexistence, a limit of options, a resignation of sameness, but to me it is the opportunity to explore the wonders of the gift of love, the ever-unfolding source of eternal bliss, built on many unexpected moments.
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