I feel like I lost. Like all I have is this desk, this chair, this computer. I comfort myself with words. It’s all I need. Though on empty days when I desire the gentle caress of a lover, and long conversations in bed, my consolations are false. But hey, they’re better than nothing.
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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