A notification I have a parcel fills me with joy. Finally a reason to leave the apartment. I’ll do a grand tour of Saint-Henri. I’ll get some fresh air. I won’t die like a houseplant left in a closet. I jump from my desk with renewed vigor. Maybe I’ll even get to talk. The sky’s the limit.
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