We find a bench on the edge the park. All we have are small pleasures. And resting in the shade of a tree watching the world go by without you is a beautiful thing. Shocking it doesn’t cost money. Soon. Someone will see a way to make another buck. A way to wring more life out of living.
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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