age of self-centeredness
At moments I am so in love with myself it’s stupid. I fluff my hair in the mirror and wonder in surprise why the Collector’s not falling all over himself every ten seconds to be with such a face, body, uncontrollable head of hair.
I remember a moment in the mirror with an Aryan lover-boy, looking at my body naked and saying and feeling, “I will never get tired of this.”
Sometimes now I hate myself. Why is that? What’s not to like?