Sans Dégoût

You grab a book from the shelf, randomly. It’s De Profundis. Oscar Wilde. You still haven’t got time to read it, though you bought it so long ago. But you pause for a moment with the book in your hands.
You think sometimes you can hear the cockroaches chirping behind the cupboard.
On the back cover, it says:

“… a universal statement about love, injustice and the pain of living in the world.”

Now we’re talking, you think to yourself. You open it and read the first lines you see on page sixty.

“O Seigneur, donnez-moi la force et le courage
De contempler mon corps et mon coeur sans dégoût.”

It’s Baudelaire. Oscar Wilde quoting Baudelaire. The words, like a prayer, hit you strongly. In the chest. Just like when you hear cars crashing outside.
It’s five in the morning. “Oh Lord, grant me the strength and the courage to look at my body and my heart without disgust.”
You washed your hair but it still smells like an ashtray.
You stare at the wall and almost cry.