I walk with my hands behind my back. It’s a nice night. Lots of people out. I sit in the park and smoke. I listen to music as lovers stroll. I’m lucky to be breathing, because all of us are living on borrowed time, while thinking we have forever. A beautiful dog barks at me. Isn’t it precious?
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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