I climb the metal stairs to the second floor. Unlock my apartment, duck in. It’s perfect. Both too early and too late. The dealer down the hall is closed for a private party. No other sounds besides the wind rattling doors, screaming like it’s trapped. I feel ya.
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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