When I wake the lights are on. The bus is pulling off the highway. A rest stop in the middle of nowhere, same as in Delaware a couple days ago. I smoke a cigarette by the door. I use the free wifi to message her even though I know she’s asleep. I think about her kiss outside of Dekalb St. I’ll remember that when I’m alone.
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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