I wake depressed. I want to walk away from what she told me like it’s nothing. But I’m more than a rock. I’m made of meat like everyone else. So I wonder if the last twenty years were nothing but a joke. Was it love, or was I keeping his seat warm? Who cares.
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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