“Everything is fine”, she said.
Everything is always fine, no matter the occasion, situation or celebration, as if the world was created with “fine”; as if God said, “let Us make man in Our image and let Him be fine”.
“No”, he said, “everything can’t just always be fine. There are moments, like sunsets and newborn babies, that are works of genius, and there’s wars and famine, that are absolutely horrific. Certainly those things can’t be put in the same category as “fine”.
She looked out the window, unmoved by his conviction to sway her to tell him where things have gone wrong. She looked out the window as if there was some slowly approaching answer arriving from their past. And then she said, “There was a time when my life was defined by glorious; by your constant presence and assurity that beauty is NOT only in the eye of the beholder; that I am all there is to you, and you are all there is to me.
Lips quivering, she continue, “You used to love me the way people look at the rise of the morning and see God in it. You used to look at me the way a dad looks at the tiny hands and feet of the newly born human being that now belongs to him.”.
“Ah”, he said, “you’ve mistaken me for God. And what a terrible disappointment we, the Godhead, is. Trust me, love is not made up of butterflies, and God is not intimate. Like Bruce Almighty used to believe, “God is just a mean kid sitting on an ant hill with a magnifying glass”.
“I love you”, he said. and she interrupted with, “I used to too, but that was before all of this”.
Peace to you.