She stirs above me in the mezzanine. I hear her shut the windows. The smallest amount of light and it’ll wake her up. I’ve never met someone so sensitive. I don’t know how she ended up with me. But even more perplexing is I don’t know why she’s stayed.
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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