It's the moments. The gentle pressure of her hand against the inside of his arm as they walk to Granny's in the mornings. The taste of coffee on her lips as she presses them to his before they part for work. The scent of vanilla that lingers around him throughout the day, as if she's standing right next to him even when she's gone. The running of her fingers through his hair as they lay together in the dark, silence between them where minutes before there had been the gasping of each other's names in overwhelming pleasure. The slow rhythm of each breath she takes pressing against his chest as she sleeps. The surprising comfort that he feels in a place that isn't a ship at sea and the part that she plays in that comfort. The way that she makes him forget the lonely, broken lifetimes before her. And his absolute inability to imagine life without her.
She recognizes the moments. All of them. The way he reaches for her hand without looking and his fingers find the spaces between hers effortlessly. The sound of his gentle snoring filling her ears when she gets home from working the night shift, knowing that he waited for her as long as he could. The perfect fit of his body against hers when they crash like two waves coming together and then finally when the sea calms and he pulls her to him. The fact that she's suddenly using sea analogies within her own thoughts and smiles at the mere thought of it. The shivers that run down her spine when he traces his fingers over her bare skin. The brightness…the light…in his blue eyes that she only sees when he's looking at her. The absence of a feeling that she's known her entire life…the feeling that she's alone. And her once incomplete heart now suddenly full in a way that she never knew possible.
Life is made up of moments. And these are the good ones.