Quotes from John Stewart Wynne

Grief has a ruthless commonality.

Sex. Love. The lack of both was like two deprivations from two deep and timeless wells.

But why think about what was wrong when you could be thinking about what was right?

Sex comes from such a lost, primitive place, we can never understand it's meaning until we're in its throes, until we've released that second being within us, shut down, shadowed, who doesn't know how to think of speak but can only communicate in burning grandiose sensations, from the heart of a fireball.

When his clock was inside my body, it wasn't just a clock engaged in the act of penetration, it felt like a gun of pure euphoria, a weapon, yes, but one meant only to calm all my fears in the rootless world. An instrument of both reassurance and forgetfulness.

We had each caused so much pain for each other-yet the love I felt for him was stronger than ever. It was unconditional. I imagined his love for me would be unconditional as well, and maybe, instead of screaming or talking through the terrible mistakes we'd made, all we'd have to would be to look in each other's eyes and say nothing, just touch each other's cheeks, and love each other. That might be enough.

That's God's one mercy, I guess, on His planet of lost logic. He gives you one chance to know the core of one other being as well as you know your own and though circumstances will bring trails and misunderstandings to visit you both, the cores never change-until, unnoticed, they become one.