She says I quit and I shrink. But I wish her the best. I’ll see you again. Two weeks notice. I grin at her prediction though I’m not as certain. Our schedules rarely collide. I lean close when I say if I do I’ll consider myself lucky. Her smile makes me weak. She glows as I walk out the door. The quarter looks less bright now.
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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