Excusez-moi I say pushing through a mass of puffy coats. My legs ache and I curse the bed I’m lying in. A man sitting in front of me is familiar. He’ll get off at the next stop. Gracefully swinging into his seat I make myself small. There, I win.
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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