What if?

She flopped diagonally onto the bed, belly first, in her bathrobe.
He reclined against a disorderly heap of pillows, back down, face up -- a much more ordinary position.
"Hi," she said, bringing her left hand to rest on his t-shirted chest.
"Hi," he replied.
He pointed with his left hand to the ring on hers.
"That rock means I love you," he said.
"It does?" she asked.
"Yes."
"But what does this band mean?" she asked, pointing to a thicker ring of gold.
"It means that I married you," he replied.
She was silent for a moment, and then spoke again.
"But what if the rock gets lost?"
"I will still love you. Just because it is lost doesn't mean it ceases to exist. It still means that I love you."
"But what if it gets crushed?"
"It won't. It's a diamond."
"But what if it gets blown up by an atomic bomb and shatters into a thousand pieces?"
"Then every one of those thousand pieces will say that I still love you."
"Yes, I suppose the conservation of mass helps your case."
"That's true ... but even if you somehow manage to turn those bits of mass into energy, the energy will still say that I love you."
She laughed.
He laughed.
"I love you, too," She replied.