It’s going to be hot. We’re all going to cook. And when it feels like you’re in an oven time has a way of slowing down. Of reminding you of exactly what you are. Nothing. I hear the universe laughing. I try to stop the inevitable but it don't have what it takes.
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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