I take two steps towards the bed. I lean across the mattress and kiss her sleeping lips. Mumbling softly through slumber she asks could you cover me up? I smirk. My fingertips run over her thigh before untangling the sheet. It floats over body. There’s still time to call in sick.
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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