“She told me she met the love of her life. You read poems about it, you hear stories about it, you hear Sicilians talk about being struck by lightning.
We know there’s no love of your life. Love isn’t terrifying like that. It’s walking the fucking dog so the other one can sleep in, it’s doing taxes, it’s cleaning the bathroom without hard feelings. It’s having an ally in life. It’s not fire, it’s not lightning. It’s what she always had with me. Isn’t it?
But what if she’s right? What if the Sicilians are right? That it’s this earth-shattering thing she felt? What if one day you meet someone, and it feels like it could never be anyone else? Not because other people are less attractive, or drink too much, or have issues in bed, or have to alphabetize every fucking book or organize the dishwasher in some way you just can’t live with. It’s because they aren’t this person. Maybe you can go through your whole life and never meet them, and think love is all these other things, but if you do meet them, God help you! Because then: ka-blam! You’re screwed.
What is love? Is it the good dear thing? Or is it the lightning bolt?”