When I was a child, I knew from what others pointed out to me that my biological mother was a mentally disturbed person, so she committed suicide in the house while holding me, who was just one month old.
I have been thinking, if I had died together with my mother, would my father have recalled me in his midnight dream, and would he have felt guilt and love for the deceased little toddler?
But I survived. My father seemed stingy in giving me a little bit of paternal love while I was alive. He hated me.
I just long for love, love is tolerance, love is patience. All I want is my father's love, your love.
In my childhood memories, my father hated me and you hated me.
Maybe one day I can be strong enough to put you down so that our story can continue.
So much love, come on?