The Intimacy Experiment

One of the best things about love, real love, is that it doesn’t demand perfection. It simply invites us to live up to our potential.

The tricky thing about grief,” his mom said, “is that even when we know it’s coming, we underestimate our own capacity for suffering

She looked like the first meteor shower he’d ever seen—impossible and brilliant, so far away but somehow also right inside his chest.

What I’m trying to articulate, probably a little poorly, is that you’re precious,” Ethan said, “not in spite of, but because of all the ways you believe you’re broken.

I won’t forget that we kissed. Sorry”—Ethan tried to grin a little—“but you have to cut me some slack on that one. Because, I mean, come on, you’re you.” She nodded, not guilty at all. “But I promise not to think about it too much. I’ll save it for those really dark moments, when I look at everything wrong with the world and I feel helpless. When every good thing I’ve ever done, ever seen or heard about, pales against the garish human capacity for hate and corruption.” He bent forward quickly and kissed her cheek, lingering more than he should but less than he wanted to before pulling back.“I’ll think about it then, if it’s okay,” he said gently, “just for a few seconds, so I can remember what it was like to feel transcendent.

I think I could be good at loving you,' he said, 'if you let me.

For the first time in his life, he felt like he understood why dogs howled at the moon.

You do realize if this intimacy experiment doesn’t work, it means we’re failures both professionally and romantically?” “That’s not how science works. “Even when they fail, experiments move us closer to the truth.

recalled a concept from the Jewish mystics—rishima—“the imprint an experience leaves.” They believed that if you endured something and let it pass without memory or reflection, if you didn’t change after having gone through it, it was as if the event had never happened. But if an experience left an imprint, if it inspired growth or altered the course of your life, then, according to the mystics, even the most painful and challenging experiences become a blessed teacher.

Were men allowed to be so lovely?

He’d thought about her so much since she’d left, it didn’t even feel like thinking anymore.

This world is full of people who would rather hate you than examine the pain in their own hearts. They will try to limit who you can love, who you can spend time with, who you can fuck. Some of these people will act like their condemnation is in your best interest. Like one day you’ll thank them for showing you the error of your ways. Some of them feel better about their own lives when they can deny the validity of yours.

I am a stick of dynamite. It was no great tragedy when dynamite destroyed itself, not when that was exactly what it was designed to do.

it all comes down to one simple question. What are you gonna let win—your love or your pain?

Looking at him made her feel lucky. Made her want to paint, despite having never painted a day in her life. It felt like the least she could do. To capture this moment somehow, so that other people could know half the pleasure of it.

It was like his heartbeat was everywhere at once.

I'd like to find someone who's strong where I'm weak.

Remember, each new day is another chance to heal your sorry, broken heart.

when she got older, she met a new boy, and he was the softest boy in the whole world.” He groaned, “I am not.

But I’m not sure she’d even know how to play it if life gave her a hand she actually wanted.

Instead, sitting across from him required her to flirt with her own softness.

Some of these people will act like their condemnation is in your best interest

Tender like a promise. Tender like a sunrise. Tender like your key in the front door at midnight, letting you in, welcoming you home.

He made her tender. Which was... not a word that anyone had ever used to describe her. Tender like petals pressed between pages of a book. Tender like a release of poison from her bloodstream. Tender, a cousin to weak, but with a quiet power she couldn't deny.

The world is cruel and unrelenting, full of pain and injustice,” she said again, leaning just slightly toward him, “and I am a stick of dynamite.

If they weren’t both barely breathing, he’d tell her how looking at her was sometimes so good that it hurt.

He smelled like summer, like more daylight and going outside to lie in the grass.

He knew in that moment that if they chased this connection, there would be no writing it off as casual. No “getting it out of their systems” or “seeing where things went.” Ethan didn’t know the right words to ask for what he wanted. “I think I could be good at loving you,” he said, “if you let me.” Adrenaline raced under the surface of his skin, urgent and electric. “That’s a lot. It’s a big thing to say, and it’s a bigger thing to deliver. I promise that I know that, but I still want you to give me a shot.” “Ethan.” She leaned her cheek into his palm, kissed the thin skin of his wrist. Was she telling him to stop? Telling him good-bye? Her lips were just as hard to diagnose as her words. He took a step back toward the beach, reaching for her hand, wanting space to think, to get the words out, but needing to stay tethered to her at the same time. “Say the word, and we can forget this ever happened. I’ll pretend that I never thought about loving you.” Ethan searched for the seam of the horizon. “I’ll look at you less, and without so much longing.” He took a deep breath. Giving speeches was part of his job, but no amount of reading Torah had prepared him for this. “I won’t forget that we kissed. Sorry”—Ethan tried to grin a little—“but you have to cut me some slack on that one. Because, I mean, come on, you’re you.” She nodded, not guilty at all. “But I promise not to think about it too much. I’ll save it for those really dark moments, when I look at everything wrong with the world and I feel helpless. When every good thing I’ve ever done, ever seen or heard about, pales against the garish human capacity for hate and corruption.” He bent forward quickly and kissed her cheek, lingering more than he should but less than he wanted to before pulling back. “I’ll think about it then, if it’s okay,” he said gently, “just for a few seconds, so I can remember what it was like to feel transcendent.

Yeah, well, that’s why Judaism complements reason with faith, right? So that they might compensate for one another’s limitations.

Our actions, the future we choose—more often than not, it all comes down to one simple question. What are you gonna let win—your love or your pain?