I break down and leave the apartment. Wandering through Saint-Henri with no destination in mind rue Notre-Dame goes by slowly. At the café I drink a latte in lieu of eating. I smoke a cig out front. I enjoy my time like I often can’t. Back home I remove my clothes; I lie in bed
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