I shower and dress. I apply cologne though it’s not yet daytime. I smoke outside with my parka open to the air. This is what I missed. Hope in a breeze that smells like the promise of warm weather. I can see days in the park under leafy trees. Women in short skirts. I’ll take it in droves.
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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