Love & Corruption Ending Part

As I said, he mused. Dumbass. As I read the text message on his Smartphone, hope again arose in my heart and I felt that maybe, just maybe, my husband could work on handling his illogical and quite manic behavior. And although the letters on the display to me only looked like meaningless lines and dots invented by some long bearded Greek guy years ago, the meanings of those letters meant the world to me. They meant peace, children and stability. These words meant hope and love and passion. Dear Mark, you may have received an incorrect mail this morning that you need to delete. In it, an unknown hacker claims that city funds, aimed for withdrawal, originally favor the university alumni. The mail is a spam and shall be regarded only as junk-mail. The mayor, in fact, is going to raise the financial assets that benefit our campus and its staff. So, dont worry and dont reach for your gun. Not today or any day. Have a nice Sunday, Mark, and thanks for good work. Ishaan. I saw Marks boss in my minds eye, his long Indian moustache twitching and his nougat skin glowing in the morning sunlight while he wrote the mail in the comfort of his own home, hoping to give Mark enough willpower to overcome his choleric outbursts. Ishaan Gupta had been chosen as University Principal because of his intellectual capabilities and capacity, but also because of his adept way in helping people and inspiring them to do good things and inspire other people. Mark gazed into my eyes, his inner uneasiness subsiding like a storm coming to a rest. We said nothing to each other, not with many words anyway. All that had to be said was that he knew he had been wrong about the mayor and that he had to control his violent temper in the future. As the Sunday morning slowly turned into a Sunday noon, we kissed, stood up, walking through our living room into a still darkened bed chamber. Once in there, we undressed and made passionate love, rediscovering the symbiosis of nuptial bliss. Doing so, we realized that all the revolutionaries had been wrong. The Hippie Generation had been right. Making love and not war was the right way to go. If physical or spiritual, love certainly was the answer. In fact, I believed then and there, laying there in my husbands arms, feeling his gender thrust inside me and intensely explode his semen into my body, that there was no such thing as physical love. Love, always spiritual and always tender, answered every one of my inquiries. This inquiry had almost conjured up eternal hell. It brought me heaven. And the gun that lay on the living room table belonged far away from our grasp. Mark had experienced a quick anger based on a false piece of information and he would have made himself a criminal because of that information. That didnt happen. Our guardian angels stopped that from happening. In fact, we had been saved. Could love beat corruption? We could only wait and see. We were making love and that was all that mattered.