I take the long way back. Fresh air on my skin feels good. At home I put away my purchases, beef, pasta, tomato paste. I take off my clothes and climb up to bed. In the sun I read until I get bored. I put the book down. I masturbate and fall asleep. The church bells sound midday.
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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