We were both sitting on the floor listening to something that neither of us was interested in. I was tired so I laid my head on his lap. He touched my hair, played with it for a moment, then lay down next to me and held me in his arms. He talked about the stupid activity going and the fact that it didn’t apply to either of us in any facet of our lives. He was right, of course.
The truth was he could have said anything at that moment and I would have agreed with him completely. My mind was thousands of miles away, dancing a little dance, singing a little song all about how he was finally—FINALLY—holding me in his arms. He has no idea how happy I am at this moment. It doesn’t show on my face. My mind is far away, but my body is there, feeling his warmth. Feeling his fingers as they move down my arm.
It could have stopped right there…as a moment that existed apart from everything. Time could have stopped and left me in his arms for eternity and there would be nothing that could make me happier. There is nothing—no thing—that can make me happy. I don’t need anything. There is no dream to me that is more that this: to be held in his arms and for him to want me there.
This is, of course, the moment when Sleeping Beauty becomes most apt, “…he takes me in his arms and then…and then…I wake up.”
Curse you, Reality.