He walks in flashing a peace sign. I want to run over and hug him but hold off, act as if it’s nothing, like he was here yesterday not three months ago. He looks well. No limp. No groan. And the twinkle in his eye that wasn’t there last time he got out of jail is back. Life is full of hope. So am I.
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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