The room is dim. The lights are out, except for the blue glow from the tv and the soft orange light of the desk lamp. As we lay there, vulnerable, embracing each other, she rolls over, facing me and asks me lightly, "what are you thinking?" (Without having to know the what we do tend to know when the other's mind is busy.) At that moment I could only admire her form and her movement, her features lit by soft blue light. I tell her, "I dunno, thinking that you're beautiful." This was partly a lie. Not because she isn't beautiful and at other times gorgeous, or cute in other instances -- that was only part of it, but it was the best I could do in that instant. The other thought was still in my chest and hadn't made it's way into my brain yet. The feeling had not yet graduated into thought. We're silent for a brief, brief moment. Feeling that I could do better than that, I hesitate, and I start up again, 'I was thinking...' again I pause, and hesitate, because even though there are no walls, no worries, no pressures and no genuine concerns to be had, the words are heavy. The words are dead-weight on my tongue, and difficult to lift. But it's a sweet thought, these words, and it deserves to be given voice, and she deserves to hear it. What's the worst that could happen? "It'd be nice if..." I kiss her once to hide my trepidation, to fill the space, but I go on, 'I was thinking, it'd be nice if... years and years from now, we were lying together, like this..."
She pauses, choosing her next move carefully. Or perhaps the words, now lifted from my tongue weigh down on her chest. She doesn't react right away, looking at me, melting just a little. She kisses me softly, but lingers. As a small kiss gives reason for another, and that kiss gives life to a longer, deeper kiss and a full embrace, she withdraws just enough to whisper, 'God, I hope so."