The mental degradation of the rounded belly, the triangular thighs and the cheeks that look like a chipmunk storing for winter.

I wish I could just throw that novel across the room and forget the dampness that uses up whole boxes of kleenex in an effort to torment myself with keen descriptions of some strong man's arms around you and rocking you to sleep because you are frightened or lost in swirly mists.

And where is your own man? Buried behind some glass LCD panel watching acres of code churning on his screen. So far and so untouchably cold.

And you gaze at the phone and wish that he was telepathic.