Leaning against the café I smoke a cig, it tastes like shit and I wash it down with hot espresso. Smiling couples pass in winter coats open to the sun. They remind me of easy afternoons, a love lost. Two women in black clothes that move with the breeze exit and roll their eyes as they see me. I hang my head, I’ll never be good enough.
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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