At the end of the day I’m giddy. I take my pay running out the door. I ride against the wind but it doesn’t slow me down, I pedal faster, harder. I think of my apartment, the streets, strangers on patios and in parks with smiles on their faces as night falls on all of us. It’s been a long time, but I’m hungry to live.
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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