When you ask him what he’s thinking about in an intimate moment, you kind of want him to say something of importance or beauty, considering the fact that he is currently consumed by you.
Usually, in this situation, you don’t expect to hear “egg salad sandwiches” or “guitar hero.” What you really want is for him to rave about sleep’s REM phase, or photos by Kevin Carter or Cristina Mittermeier. You want to hear him go on about a bear’s unusually quiet voice. How cold it feels laying on a dock at night, itching from mosquitoes that find warmth on your toes, whom you would frankly miss if they weren’t there.
Maybe about how he loves to help children, or how he finds himself in Holden Caulfield (which you knew he would if only he would read it). You want to know of his mysteries. You want him to speak of beauty and the wonder of life. When he says “you,” you know what he compares you too. It isn’t the vast sky, or a tiger on a boat, or hearing rain under an umbrella. Maybe it’s because you aren’t that to him and he isn’t that to you. Maybe it’s because his wonder is different than yours. You wish you knew, but you’re glad you know the difference.
Minuscule and Magnificent 