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You can’t be comfortable, or a comforting presence if you’re making yourself small and trying to appeal to as many people as you possibly can. Shaving off the parts you think people will dislike to present an ideal version of yourself that you think they’ll tolerate.
Being comfortable is taking up space, making noises that are weird and unholy. Where you aren’t expected to conform to a standard. It’s making compliments without worrying if what you’re complimenting is weird. It’s a space that allows you to be wrong without blame.
After all, even in the scenario that first comes to MY mind when I say “comfort” has imperfections. Reading a book under the covers wouldn’t be the same without the rain or snow. Or a fireplace. The rain and snow is cold, and the fireplace smells acrid and is smokey. But it’s comforting.
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