I get up. I walk rue Notre-Dame. People with smiles on their faces, why not? The weather is perfect for sitting on a patio with friends, eating dinner, or lying in the grass watching the stars fight their way from the twilight. I go home and have dinner, I sleep, I hope I feel better when I wake.
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.
Comments
Post a Comment