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“I don’t know,” I whisper. “Sometimes you’re just—” “Drawn to someone who’s all wrong for you?”
But mostly? I just want to be able to look in the mirror and be happy with what I see staring back at me. I want to know what it’s like to feel like I’m enough.
Because every fat person will tell you…no one judges us harder than we judge ourselves.
“Everyone is fake,” he clarifies. “No one is real. We’re all sheep…following each other around in circles…going nowhere.”
“Even if she was here, I’d be wishing it was you.” There’s not enough air in the room after that statement. But as much as I wish it was true and he was being sincere, I know better. “You’re drunk.” “And you’re beautiful.”