Like This, Right Now

You're sitting on the floor in front of my computer. In the next room we can hear the hum of the washing machine at its task on my piles of dirty laundry.  I always let my laundry go too long.  You do yours almost every week.  I admire that.
I am wearing a pair of light green lounge pants, a promo T-shirt from a previous employer, and your sweater.  The grey one.  The one that is way too big for me, but I wear it because you left it in my car and it smells like you.  You don't mind that I'm wearing it, because you say I'll make it smell like me.  I hope I don't.  That would spoil it.
I slip away downstairs and secure us two spoons from the drawer because you bought ice cream in celebration of having found some cheap gas at Maverick.  I surpress the urge to make a comment about the Maverick gas eating out your engine, and just eat the ice cream.  Bunny Tracks.  We usually get Moose Tracks.  I'm not sure what inspired the change, but no matter.
It is funny, amidst a sea of won't-it-be-great-whens, I occasionally have a moment of "can we just go on forever like this, right now?"
Because, like this, right now, we are perfect.
Like this, right now, everything is perfect.
I'm not interested in that one time when things didn't go right.  I'm not interested in the fact that they may not go right again.
Because like this, right now, the only thing that matters is being like this, right now, with you.