Outside the dépanneur in the sun I don’t know how I’m going to make it through the day. I’m exhausted. Beat. Ready to find a spot by the canal and lie down in the grass. Tell the boss I’m not coming in and let my love think I did. Sleep in the sun. Let it recharge me. I think I’m going to die.
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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