First thing first coffee brewing, I go out for a cigarette. It’s so early it’s quiet. I have the street to myself. Long sigh. It’s not often anyone gets anything to themselves in a city this big. You’d think it’d never be lonely, but it is, it is. A seagull screams overhead.
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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