The Couch

“One word,” she said quietly, bringing me back from my wandering thoughts, back to her, back where I wished I could always be.
“You or myself?”
“Yourself.”
I loved that we could understand everything we spoke to each other, whether elaborate or not, consisting of many words or one.
I thought for a long moment before I came up with an admittedly lame response: “Varied.”
“And to whom exactly does that not apply?”
“I know, it applies to everybody; there’s nobody to whom ‘varied’ doesn’t apply. But then, who on earth can configure the sum total of all their being and existence in one word? Is there some word that could possibly encompass every aspect of one’s character?”
She looked forlornly into my eyes. “I doubt it. Do you believe there could be?”
“Perhaps for a few. Very, very few.” I paused for a moment and drew her to me. “Perhaps, for a select very few, there is one such word.”
She raised an eyebrow quizzically. “And what might this magical word be, I wonder?”
“Beautiful.” I whispered softly, and at that point, her head on my shoulder and mine resting on hers, we gave in to the comfort of that couch that called us together to unconsciousness.