I’m greedy for time. I think of all the people I’ve ever worked for. None of them ever got to go home. They never got to turn off. They might've had money. But I've got liberty.
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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