Do you like yourself?

Excuse me?

Do you like yourself? ; the question echoed accusatorily.


She could feel herself recoil at the question even as she dared herself to calm- to breathe

– to breathe.


The breath she drew stuck pins in her chest through her back and she knew she was falling apart but willed herself to pull the stammer building in her throat out her mouth into something strong- something confident.

You should have seen her, head down, shoulders slumped and palms to the table breathing lips pursed cradling an invisible straw- holding bits of her life- staring at the glass of water in front of her. A shame.





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