A handsome man orders slowly. Normally this would have me groaning and rolling my eyes behind his back. But today the cold got into my ribs and now it howls from within me. So every second he wastes of the barista’s time, subjecting her to his whims, is warmth returning. Blather on you beautiful fool.
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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