Am I fool, sacrificing comfort for art? I could’ve been my father. A steady job. A life with all the ornaments of modern life. But that didn’t make sense. He was caught in a cage. So I cast off my past to refuse that future. I made the right choice.
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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