I warm up dinner and sweat while I eat. I smoke a cigarette and feel sick for my effort. I wear nothing but underwear. From the couch I watch reality TV dubbed in French. I want to improve. I want to impress her. J’en ai marre de la chaleur.
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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