I sit in a single seat near the front of the bus. No headphones. I chastised myself this morning. But now as we rattle along a service road with the setting sun reflecting in the distant buildings downtown, no one is making a sound. I’m in a trance. And it’s the most peace I’ve known in a while.
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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