Looking out the window I devour an amandine. A waitress bring my drink. I gather my things and leave the plate. On the corner I smoke a cigarette looking at the sky. The temperature drops and dark clouds bring twilight early. I smell rain before it falls. I walk home without a care.
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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