I slide into bed. She takes my hand as I close my eyes. It’s a comfort though I can’t sleep. My phone lights my face as I check the time. Still early. I threaten to take the metro home but I don’t. Because I’d rather have my arm around her, than be well-rested
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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