Heading down the curving staircase I zip my field jacket all the way up. Crossing rue Roy I notice the mountain and the pale violet sky behind. There are moments when this city is beautiful. Walking to the metro I see three men sleeping in the foyer of an apartment building.
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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