The ride home is no easier than this morning. Different direction though the wind is still against me. I don’t understand but I accept by pumping my legs and taking deep breaths. I look at the canal. Ducks float effortlessly among the reflection of clouds. I smell lilac. I travel back in time.
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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