In the park that used to be an empty lot full of trash we wander through wildflowers. Side by side we lie in a hammock under the moon and it feels like I’m not alone. I can ask her for help. We take photos to remember the time and the place.
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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