I shower and dress; start coffee. Outside loud bass booms. I stand in the middle of rue Acorn and look towards downtown, bright against the predawn sky. A car by the men’s mission, taillights glow red, it vibrates with the tempo. I miss moments I’ll never live again.
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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