At a little after 4h00 I get up off the couch. I stop in front of the large round mirror with the bevelled edge. I admire the shadows the red light over the stairs throws across my body. The lines it creates and the defaults it hides. I run one finger down my ribs before walking away with a smile.
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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