Earlier today, I said I didn’t understand why people loved or liked me. Not really. Ever since I was young, I had a sense of desperation, like whatever was good in my life would be taken away. I think a large part of that was the way I was treated when I was younger.
Today, someone said to me something along the lines of, “You are my family. I love you. Do you know why?”
No, but I’m learning to accept this.
Then they asked, “Why do you love your siblings?”
I said, “because of the way they smile, the the words they say, the way they act and the way they laugh. For the things they like and the things they don’t like.”
I thought of certain moments as I said this. The way one sibling laughs when they think they’ve one-upped me. The way another one lets me eat their tomatoes because I don’t like food being wasted and they’re allergic. The way they smile when they’re pleased. The way they banter back and forth. Even when they’re grouchy and get pouty. For all these things and more, I love them.
After that, I was asked, “then why wouldn’t I love you for the same reasons?”
And that’s it isn’t it?