Leaves and twigs litter the path. Crows caw from bare trees. The canal is calm, it looks like the sky, if not a little ragged. I imagine hearing its call, giving in to the coolness, all in the pursuit of knowing what it feels like to fly. Life is often spent fighting urges.
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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