It’s hotter than it should be for the sun being set. The air is so thick it’s hard to lift my lighter to the tip of my cigarette, but I do. I listen to the city, a hum persists, like the blood in my veins it never stops. I exhale white smoke and watch it float away. One day we will too
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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