Love.
That feeling that has become a permanent memory. A gentle touch, that knowledge that her hand as it lies against the small of your back, resting slightly on the top of your belt. A warmth that is without description, unlike any other touch, or even any sort of contact be it animal, vegetable or mineral. The warming touch of one you love, forever there, forever ingrained into your genetic makeup, as though eons of men throughout time have felt that same hand upon their back and been moved and humbled as if still an infant. She lays her head sideways and it now rests against my shoulder, she glances up to see me watching her and she smiles. Waiting now, just waiting for the check-out line to move faster, but hoping it stops completely and the moment lasts forever. This human next to me, her hand on my back, her head resting against me, no other time in my life has my being felt so, well, so content.
After a long day working, a quick shower together, and hours of loving; we are now at a grocery store. The mundane rituals of modern life interfere with our existence together. It is as if the concept of lovemaking was invented by the two of us, for us alone. Certainly no one else has felt the depths of that contentment and just plain satisfaction that we have just an hour before. Broccoli, potatoes, green beans and cheese; all sitting in our cart awaiting the checker to push numbers on a register and continue the drudgery we live outside the serenity of our personal existence. Two vegetarians, living our lives as one, complete in our lifestyle, our tiny corner of the universe, and with each other.
Time passed, we grew apart, in our lives, our philosophies, our diets. A child, the product of our love grew, became an extension of the two of us, and lives and loves now as an individual. Never forgetting the two lovers that created him, he remembers us. What else is there in life?
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