“‘And so to be in love with a face so expressive, so carefully communicative is to forget yourself without it, like living in a home without a mirror. You have to go by the warped and faded reflection in the toaster and mentally adjust the image. At that point, your notion of self is imagined. At that point you wonder why you do this to yourself. Your body feels entirely tumorous—a part of you, made of the same stuff as you, but distinctly not you.’
‘What are we even talking about anymore? Enough with the abstract metaphors.’”
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