On the stairs of a boarded up storefront sunlight kisses me. I curse the need to work. To pay rent and eat and go out on the weekend to make it worth while. Because everyone passing smiles. MontrĂ©al’s in bloom. A city in need of the sun. We turn to it like wilting flowers.
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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