I turn on lights but not all of them. I don’t want anyone under the impression that the shop is open. Of course I locked the door behind me. But that won't stop the impatient from hammering on the windows if they think someone’s here. I hide in the shadows at the back until I hear the boss use his keys to get in.
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.
Comments
Post a Comment