In the bistro I take a coffee and a pain au chocolat. From a sidewalk table I watch beautiful women pass. I’m invisible. And as flaky crumbs fall from my lips I have an epiphany. I’m old, I’m unlovable, solitude is my fate. So I bow my head to destiny. I go inside and type.
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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