Showering is one of my life’s great joys. I prize it. Hordes of men and women live lives on the streets of this city. Hot water is scarce. And the simplicity of washing the day from their flesh is denied them. With winter looming it breaks my heart. How will they rid themselves of the cold?
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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