I stop to smoke a cig. Standing off to the side of the crowd I feel good, translucent, and I admit a little loneliness suits me. Maybe I’m better this way, freedom to move, no one to answer to. It’s been so long I forgot. I’m not used to it yet, but I will be. My eyes follow a woman down the block.
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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