While preparing dinner I hear a bum settling in the hall upstairs. I don’t want to deal with it. Kicking him out when it’s cold isn’t easy. But after eating I put on my boots. I open the fire door. He’s taking a call when I tell him to leave. Je te rappelle he says hanging up, and clearing his things.
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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