And as I break apart the marijuana for a joint I tell her I’m cold. So standing behind me she wraps her skinny arms around my chest. I feel the warmth of the blankets and bed and I tell myself the visions behind my eyes I now see are her dreams. I shiver with her love.
And I need all the reasons I can find not to hate myself. But it’s hard. Even the idea makes me shiver. Because I see loving myself like looking down on others. Riding around on a high horse. And I never want to think I’m better then the people I see on the street. The ones who have it rough. The ones who don’t fit in. The ones I see my own face in.
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