Our lips touch in the dark. I tell her have a good day. She wishes me luck. I leave then return. I need her warmth. It gives me courage to tie my boots. To sling my bag over my shoulder. To open the door. To step into the snow. To take the slippery staircase, and meet my future.
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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