The moment's locked up in our machine

"He’s lying on the bed, and as she walks into the bedroom, she watches him. He’s got his laptop out, and is typing away, creating stories of plot and character beyond that which her mind can conjugate. It’s funny. She wants to go into writing, and he chose a different path, but every time she reads something he writes, she’s left behind in the dust. He glances up, briefly, sends her a smile and with an index finger, beckons for her to join him on the bed. He looks back at his writing without watching to see if she will join. He doesn’t need to watch her. He knows she’ll come. Padding across the room, she stretches out, climbing onto the bed. Without looking up from the screen, he shifts across the bed and indicates his shoulder. She smiles. She fits her head against his shoulder, wraps her arm around his middle and presses her body up against his. She’s comfortable here, she fits well. This is the perfect place to relax. He continues to write, and she continues to love."

Comfortable (via atomos)

(via atomos)