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When I am at my lowest my wife lifts me up with dance.

At first she will gather me into her arms and gently rock me in time to the music, often kissing away my tears. I can feel the safety and strength of her love. As we start to move more rhythmically to the music, she begins to weave a spell around me. That of life and living, hope and desire, fulfillment. Wherever I have been emotionally, no matter how low or hopeless I feel, I am drawn inexorably upwards and outwards.

Then she really puts the moves on and lawdy lawdy can that woman move!
I alternate between laughing hysterically, looking on in disbelief that she can get that particular bit to move like that, wishing I could do it, and thinking numerous lecherous thoughts.
She wines, she shakes all of her thangs, she pulls faces and mimics other people we have seen dancing, and also ones from home that I have not. She plays the old lady, the righteous Rastaman, the hoochie mama.
We laugh, fall back into each others arms, kiss and dance some more.

I emerge from my lassitude flushed from the exertions, feeling happy, uplifted, sexy, grateful for her and full of hope at the potential of life.

She brings me joy. Constantly.

What do you, or did you, do to feel better when this journey gets tough?

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