As an adult, I enjoy spending the kind of time with my parents that I was not capable of, nor interested in spending with them when I was a teenager. We sit and talk now. We share a glass of wine over expertly grilled salmon (thanks, Dad!) and sit and talk. I can talk to them about important things. About sad or happy things. I can talk to them about being-on-the-verge-of-tears things.
And the best part?
The very, very best part? The part that fills me with the kind of contented peace that has only previously been found on the other side of a long, hot bath and a mug of milky tea?
They like me.
They enjoy
my company. Two of the smartest,
kindest, most gentle people I know enjoy my company. If this is the only accomplishment I can
boast of in my life, I will die happy.
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| Reason I Didn't Write Yesterday: Heavy Bangs |
