Fine is a four letter word.
So is loss.
There are many four letter words in my vocabulary.
Some good, some not, but all very fitting.
Fine is the one Michael hates the most.
To him it’s very definition screams out to be fixed.
Fine is bad.
Fine is not tolerable.
Fine is anything and everything not good.
It stirs up action in him like it would in others yelling fire in a movie theatre.
He’s been that way since we met. It’s even more so now that I’m sick.
I find if I’m about to say that word, I better swallow it fast.
Maybe it’s just his way of showing love.
Wanting everything to be perfect for me in this very imperfect world.
Is the world imperfect?
Is perfection attainable but a reality we just haven’t grasped yet?
At church we say there are no perfect people.
I certainly don’t know any.
But a perfect day, moment, memory, I think they do exists. I have had them.
Maybe more than I realize. I am just not in the habit of looking for them.
Look for the good, find the good. Focus on the bad, see the bad.
With people, places and things, it applies to them all.
Just don’t call any of it fine.