We eat croissant au nutella. I prepare coffee. We sit at my kitchen table chatting. She’s skilled at getting me to pause, to step back and enjoy life before submitting to what’s next? She’s on the mark. Enjoy every moment. Appreciate the people around me. That’s what it means to be rich.
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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