I do not understand how she asks so many questions. Do all things little wonder about the things that are big? If so, why does it not work the other way, with the universe gazing down on ants with impassioned curiosity, with the universe holding its sons and daughters with peering love? But it’s always the universe this, the universe that.
How long has it existed, mama? I don’t know, but long enough to have created and destroyed love a million times.How big is it, mama?I don’t know, but big enough that we aren’t afraid of losing it. Can we lose the universe, mama? Yes,you can lose anything. No. The universe is our home. It’s here to stay.Just like our house! She giggles while I think of a pile of bills too high for her to reach. Yes. Just like home.
I am wrong. The universe has stopped and started a million times. I do not tell her this because she is the thing that makes it go. I lie to her about this broken, drunken reality. God forgive me.