“So I learned two things that night, and the next day:
the perfection of a moment, and the fleeting nature of it.”
– Margaret George
Perfect days are exceedingly rare. So rare that if you’re lucky enough to experience even one, you remember it for the rest of your life.
On this very day, four years ago, I had one. It was perfect. It was more perfect than perfect. Not a single moment could have been improved. So perfect that it left me with a sense of peace and serenity, an assurance that the world is a beautiful and generous place, a confidence that deep and sincere love would prevail, would overcome obstacles.
I have never been so wrong about anything in my life. Within days, not even a full week later: that which I adored, which I prized, was taken away. You don’t get over that; you live with it, every single day.
Here’s where I usually write some wry and clever observation to show the humorous or ironic side of the situation. I got nothin’. Except to quote Bob Marley: “The good times of today are the sad thoughts of tomorrow.”