I lift my bike off a hook on the wall. Looking out my windows I hope it doesn’t rain until after I get to work. Then it doesn’t matter. I’m closer to what I’m looking forward to. The end of the day. A hot shower. A warm bed. The arms of my lover. Thoughts like that can even erase bad weather.
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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