I jog through an industrial sector. A chain link fence covered in snow makes me stop to take a photo. I continue running when I’m done. Slush fills my shoes. My feet are wet but I don’t care. The damp air cooling my lungs is good. And the blood in my ears is a song.
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