A Soulful of Goodness

You know how there are moments, when you just feel like life is good? Like all is right in the world, and you are where you belong - surrounded by love and sweetness and all that is love and hope and warmth and light?

The doctor and I had one of those moments the other night. We had spent the evening eating pizza and watching a British political thriller we rented from netflix. Afterward he took out his guitar. He played, and I sang along to Don McClean, and the Sundays, and Jem, and more I can't remember, and then we climbed into bed and read aloud from a book we bought together in the bookstore - a daily intellectual devotional - that teaches you something new every day. I think the topic was the Bust of Nefertiti, or maybe Hamurabi's code. I can't remember now.

When he set the book down, I pulled myself in close to him an he wrapped his arms around me tight, and just held me like that for maybe five minutes. I don't know what it was about that moment, but my heart just started to pound. I was just so overcome with the love and the goodness of all of it. The comfortable warmth of his embrace and the feeling of sharing our lives and our thoughts and the deepest part of our souls. I knew he felt it too.

When I pulled away, I looked up at him and he leaned in to kiss me. And all of that goodness and love became passion that spread like electricity between us. I couldn't get enough of him - I wanted his skin on my skin, his lips on my lips. Our tongues danced and teased, our pulses quickened, and our skin warmed and tingled with every touch and caress, and we made love like there was nothing else in the world but us. It was wonderful.

As we lay basking in the afterglow, I couldn't help but tell him how I felt.

"This feels really good," I blurted out. "Do you feel it?"
"That depends on what "this" is."
"This moment. Us. Lying here. Being together. Planning our lives."
"I was just thinking the same thing."