“About the best thing I got out of any of those affairs was a really good pie crust recipe. But if anyone were to ask me, “Have you ever been in love?” I could at least say, with the same sort of rueful pride as a recovering alcoholic who’s asked whether he’s ever been known to take a drink: “Oh, yes.” I’ve known kisses so narcotic they made my eyes roll back in my head. For a few weeks one winter I walked around feeling like I had a miniature sun in my heart. I learned that making out on the subway is one of those things, like smoking cigars or riding Jet-Skis, that is obnoxious and repulsive when other people do it but incredibly fun when it is you. And there are still songs that, whenever I hear them, whatever I’m doing, will send me into a moment’s exquisite reverie, like an old injury’s twinge at an oncoming storm. Maybe one reason artists seems so susceptible to love affairs is that being in love is one of the only times when life is anything like art—when we actually feel the way torch songs and arias sound, the way Gene Kelly looks singing in the rain. It might all have been worth it if I’d been the only one hurt.”
— Tim Kreider, excerpt from Reprieve in We Learn Nothing
