I walk the streets to see other people. Smell coffee and pizza in the air. Hear strangers laugh. Cars honk their horns with impatience This is beneficial to me. And beautiful. Cocaine for my soul. A way through the long cold winter without surrendering to insanity. Of making it to spring still in control.
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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