I slept late but it’s still early by this city’s standards. So walking the halls I keep my eyes peeled for Sunday morning junkies in the shadows. Or a drunk stumbling home, using the walls as support. Both are known for mood swings. Today the corridors are quiet. I’m alone. Nothing new.
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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