I’m willing to hold on to this moment.
Last night I slept next to him, infinitely happy. He wasn’t content until we were cocooned together, perfectly placed so that his kisses would be easily placed at the back of my head.
At that moment, I felt I could love him. At that moment, he made my life.
We were discussing different types of alcohol. I had fallen in love with something new. He’s good at that– making me see things I’ve never seen before. He makes me let go, I’m sure, without evening know he’s doing so.
“So what’s an occasion when we can we have that?” I ask, inquiring about when we can drink the more expensive stuff. The MUCH more expensive stuff. He’s not looking at me, or maybe I was laying down on the bed… not looking at him.
And without a fucking second’s pause he replies, “When we’re engaged.”
I expect a moment’s hesitation at least, after the words sink into his own mind. Instead there’s nothing. He continues. “Or we’re married or something like that.”
“Oh really?” I respond charmingly. Mostly because I don’t know what to say. Mainly because I’m in shock. It’s the best answer I have without delving too much into his answer. I don’t want him to think I didn’t like the answer– and at the same time I don’t want to sound overly excited. A strange balance. That’s what good sarcasm is for.
I sit up, lean over and kiss his neck. He grabs my wrist and pins me down on the bed.
Fucking. Bliss.
My Mr. Absolutely.
