The heat is stifling though it doesn’t stop us from holding hands. In a Persian café we order fried chicken sandwiches and eat on the terrace. Sated we stroll along busy Friday night streets. A cat trapped on a rooftop meows for aid. She holds my bag while I go up to coax it down.
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.
Comments
Post a Comment