I’m glad she’s seeing someone. Though I should’ve asked questions. What does he do, is he kind, is he better than me? But I’m no longer entitled to details. Two decades together passed in a flash. Three years later and I wonder how long until we both forget.
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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