"The Eskimo has fifty-names for snow because it is important to them there ought to be as many for love.

Can I be blamed for wanting a real body, to put my arms around? Without it I too am disembodied. I can listen to my own heartbeat against the bedsprings...but there’s something dead about it, something deserted.
Can I be blamed for wanting a real body, to put my arms around? Without it I too am disembodied. I c...
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