1.) Have you let an appropriate amount of time pass for self-reflection?
2.) Do you think you will be able to revisit past events, view them from a far enough distance that your emotions will not get the better of you, like before?
3.) How often can you hear the rain?
4.) Do you think—do you hope—she can hear it too?
5.) What do you miss the most about her?
6.) Is it her hair, a waterfall of pure black, from which you fashioned the night?
7.) Are the flowers you made to decorate the once barren earth an accurate imitation of the scent of her skin?
8.) You were the first beings to spring forth from the chaos of the early cosmos, was it love at first sight?
9.) Do you think it was love at first sight for her too?
10.) Did Love already exist by then? Did you feel the need to create it, to give a name to that which was dwelling inside of you, foreign, yet familiar?
11.) How long did you have to court her?
12.) Does time flow differently for gods than it does for mortals?
13.) She was too proud to give herself over too love, thought too highly of herself to feel the passion and pain of mortal souls. She has never said this. Do you think it is true?
14.) Her name means “The Unmarried One.” Did you not think it was enough reason to be wary?
15.) Do you remember the day of your marriage, the day harmony was given a name, and both of you basked in it?
16.) Did she enjoy the warm billowing breeze of your home on her jet-black hair, the cool waters of the lake in which she bathed every night, her skin seemingly aglow in the darkness?
17.) Did you do everything in your power to make her happy?
18.) Do you sometimes think it was not enough?
19.) Do you remember all the times you left her alone to put order in some corner of the universe, as is your duty; do you remember how she would smile but only for a second, and turn away immediately, her hair whipping behind her?
20.) How many times did you tell her, “I will be back soon, love. It pains me to have you so far from me, but I will return for you, as I always have”?
21.) Do you think she believed you every time?
22.) When you did return home, finding her, as usual, by the lake, the water enveloping her up to her waist, her eyes fixed on some unknown point on the horizon, do you remember her flinching at your touch, at your words?
23.) Were there days when you would wake up, fingers searching for her body, only to grasp air and silk?
24.) On what day did you wake up and find her turned away from you, curled in a fetal position, yet you could feel she was awake?
25.) Do you think she already knew what you were going to say before she was going to say it?
26.) When you promised you would return, as you always did, no matter how long it took, did you realize the feeble attempt of words at approximating reality?
27.) Did it make you feel less of a god?
28.) Where was she when you went away and fulfilled your duty?
29.) Do you think the continuous chaos of the cosmos—the disruption you must continually arrange, repair—is representative of the apparent distrust she has of you?
30.) Or do you think all the times she looked away, fell silent, was how she showed her love for you?
31.) Was the breeze she sent to spy on you also a sign of her love?
32.) What did you do to that breeze?
33.) Did you regret it? Did you know you were capable of such fury, such rage?
34.) When you finally returned home, your anger never having subsided, what did you find her doing?
35.) When you saw her, did her hair seem a little less lustrous, her skin a bit more pale, like curdled milk? Did she look like a different being then?
36.) When she cried out when you pulled her from the lake, do you think she felt pain?
37.) Were you hoping it was the same pain you were also feeling?
38.) Did you believe nothing would compare to your pain, that nothing could ever calm the fires of your heart, even when you stripped her of her powers, when you banished her from sight, once and for all?
39.) Was this a way of showing her your love?
40.) On the following days, months, filled by her absence, was there a small part of you that was hoping she would return?
41.) Did she ever return?
42.) Do you remember anything before your birth, the void that existed before you came into being?
43.) Could you say the emptiness of your world now was more vast than the abyss in the beginning?
44.) What did you do to deal with the pain that lingered?
45.) Did it help? Did anything? Or did everything you made only remind you of her: the vast empty sea, now separate from an eternally cloudless sky; the barren shores hugging the edge of the crystal waters; the sighing winds; the stars she liked to adorn, glittering overhead?
46.) Do you hear the rain now, the thunder rolling across the earth?
47.) Are you hoping that if you cried hard enough she would hear?
48.) Do you still feel less of a god?
49.) Or do you now merely feel less, incomplete?
Bonus question: If you are able to reach the end of the questionnaire, what changed?
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