“It’s the tragedy of loving, you can’t love anything more than something you miss.

I put my hand on him. Touching him was always so important to me. It was something I lived for. I never could explain why. Little, nothing touches. My fingers against his shoulder. The outsides of our thighs touching as we squeezed together on the bus. I couldn’t explain it, but I needed it. Sometimes, I imagined stitching all our little touches together.  How many hundreds of thousands of fingers, brushing against each other does it take to make love? Why does anyone ever make love?

I like to see people reunited, maybe that’s a silly thing, but what can I say, I like to see people run to each other, I like the kissing and the crying, I like the impatience, the stories that the mouth can’t tell fast enough, the ears that aren’t big enough, the eyes that can’t take in all of the change, I like the hugging, the bringing together, the end of missing someone.”

-Jonathan Safran Foer, Extremely Loud and Incredibly Close