Mary Gaitskill

His gaze penetrated her so thoroughly, it was as though he had thrust his hand into her chest and begun feeling her ribs one by one.

This morning, I felt despair and a longing for them, and a sureness that we would never be close as long as I lived.

Human love is grossly flawed, and even when it isn’t, people routinely misunderstand it, reject it, use it or manipulate it. It is hard to protect a person you love from pain, because people often choose pain; I am a person who often chooses pain.

Love as a cheap stuffed toy bounced off your head – it’s a brilliant metaphor and a true one. But the metaphor for love that I feel more deeply is a lost, hungry little animal dying as it tries to find its way back home in the cold. It isn’t truer. But I feel it more.

HOW STUPID TO THINK I could break this pattern when I could not break my own. I can’t say offhand how many times, during the decades before I got married, I asked for or demanded some sort of relationship with someone who shut the door in my face, then opened it again and peeked out. I would – metaphorically – pound on the door and follow the person through endless rooms. Sometimes the door opened and I fell in love – before losing interest completely. I thought then that my feelings were false and had been all along, but the pain that came from rejecting someone or being rejected was real and deep. It did not help when I realised that I was as much to blame for the result as the people I pursued, that I often ‘played the loser’ so aggressively that I scarcely gave the person opposite me much choice in their response.

“If you fuck up my ears, I swear I’ll sue you,” I said. “I’m a model and I can’t have fucked-up ears!”
“Why not?” she asked. “You got a fucked-up head.”