Sometimes when we touch

When my husband and I lie in bed together, sometimes we hold hands. Usually both of us are doing something on the computer but can spare a hand now and again.

But it usually isn’t hand holding so much as hand clasping. My hand slides under his and my middle finger rests just right between two tendons, delicately feeling the beat of his blood as it courses around his body.

That pulsating beat is life affirming to me. At a time when things are pretty bad, it reassures and comforts me. The steady regular throb seems so dependable and reliable.

It’s an unconscious thing, this reaching for the pulse. I am looking for a constant in a time of flux and I get it; every time.

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About quirkycharm

I like to think that I have a certain quirky charm but I am probably being optimistic. Acquired taste, perhaps, which many don't acquire. This is about my fifth blog out there. My hosting companies kept going out of business or my IT exhusband kept hacking into them and I would move again. I don't do twitter, I barely do facebook, I don't try and 'monetize' my blog. I love my husband, my grown children and my job and this particular incarnation of oversharing my life comes at a time when I am the most content that I have ever been. I write always, sporadically during the good stuff and exhaustingly during the bad.
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