We talk about Twizzlers.
How I like the black, he likes the red.
And how these rainbow-colored ones are softer than those.
We laugh together about my hormonal outburst this morning, the one where I rivaled Niagra...the one that led me to buy him candy to make up for it.
No one talks about life or death. Or bills, or money. Or real estate. Or what-are-we-gonna-do.
It doesn't matter.
We have now. We have: half-a-nap, some rainbow-colored Twizzlers, and us.
We have us.
Sometimes love fits so comfortably, so easily, that you hardly notice it's there.