I wake up late. Almost 5h30. The panic hits. Like I’ve already sunk the ship. It’s over it’s finished I’m a loser and should lie down in front of the next train that passes by out back. Mais merde. Restez calme. Give yourself a break. The sun hasn’t even started to tint the sky blue yet. There’s still time. I gather my things.
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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