Odd, the showcase of love.
The cold breezes brushing through the skin. Clothes that can barely cut through the devastating cold. Areas made for rest, stability, and protection come with it. Food is limited. There is no manufacturing. One has to go out to get it.
Men leave the house to hunt not out of courage, but obligation. Children stay inside, ignorant of the cost of warmth.
Love here is asymmetrical: one endures the cold, the other benefits from it. The desire to consume, or the mutual consumption.
The hunt goes the way or not. The skin riddled with ice. For a moment the blood stops. There is no warmth left, but the will aflame.
Kids waiting at the door. The breeze stuns the doorway. They check whether their father has arrived. They see him coming, a relief. A partner realizes that she will not have to do this alone. The warmth of hugs, truly romanticized as part of love.
In a world without cold, love would disappear. In a world without need, affection would feel obscene.
Old times nurtured us to have these as our showcases of love. The warmth of another warm-blooded. The cries and the consolations. The harmony with which the two hearts meet.
No other human tries to intermingle the way humans interact.
The fur… oh, the fur. What could our lives be if we had fur.
