When I wake up the day is the same as all the rest. Dates and times no longer matter. The joy of looking forward to something so distant I hardly remember. Like faces of people I used to love fading in my mind with the months. Another year and I’ll be long gone mad for sure. I tell myself the summer will save me. But I know better than to believe a word I say. I return to bed with nothing to show.
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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