On the way home we sit by the fountain in the park. I see bums on the church steps laughing. Families with children playing in the morning sun. Young people sit on bright coloured blankets popping bottles of sparkling wine they mix with juice. It’s the weekend. Spring has hit the city. I 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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