I buy a cheap sandwich from an expensive market. Her apartment is freezing but the shower runs hot. She reads in bed. I doze. ‘It's early…don’t sleep,’ she teases. ‘I have to wake in a few hours,’ I plead. ‘You’ve always got an excuse,’ follows her eye roll. We laugh. Life is good.
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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