January 27, 2021
I can spend my life convincing myself that my parents didn't love me, but that's simply not the case. In some way, in their own way, in the best way they knew how—they did. Do? Take for instance my father and his knowledge of my favorite color. Every birthday, he would buy something quite useless and irrelevant to me as a person, but always it would be in my favorite color. Like he was admitting he's not the best at gift-giving, but hey "I remember what your favorite color is." This makes me happy. Sometimes I wonder why.