Hiding in the doorway I shiver, though the warmth of the shower is still in my flesh. I look up and down the block. Nothing but sheets of ice reflecting street lamps. I search the loading dock across from me for the pigeon who roosts there. I smile when I see him.
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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