So you suffer through the night with the perfect-on-paper man, the stutter of jokes misunderstood, the witty remarks lobbed and missed. You spend another hour trying to find each other, and you drink a little too much and try a little too hard. And you go home to a cold bed and think, That was fine. And your life is a long line of fine.
And then you run into someone on Seventh Avenue as you’re buying diced cantaloupe, and POW!, you are known, you are recognized, the both of you. You find you have the same rhythm. Click. You just know each other. All of a sudden you see reading in bed and waffles on Sundays and laughing at nothing and his mouth on yours. And it’s so far beyond fine that you know you can never go back to “fine”. That fast. You think: Oh, here is the rest of my life. It’s finally arrived.
Gone girl – Gillian Flynn