In my life, I haven't been able to find my own moon, and meeting you in the vast sea of people is a handful of candy given to me by the Milky Way.

I grew up knowing that I was different from other children, that I didn't have a father.

When I was not sensible, I repeatedly asked my mother, why do other children have fathers, but I don't?

Mom would tell me that your dad had a serious illness and had passed away.

I've always believed so.

The little boy's self-esteem was always incomprehensible, he couldn't understand a lot of things, he didn't understand why my mother and I kept moving, and he didn't understand why every landlady was so fierce to himself and his mother, and the neighbors hated us.

They would scold a lot of nasty things, and I grew up surrounded by countless "FUCK" and "BITCH", and I became a "sonofbitch" as a matter of course.

Because of these abuses, I was always angry, hating both those who were insulting my mother and me, and hating my mother.

I hated that she was always wearing revealing clothes, that she wore her black hair in big waves, that she came home with the smell of alcohol, that she left me alone and locked the door and wouldn't let me out.

I also hate that because of her, all the children around me bullied me, spit on me, dumped garbage on my head, pulled me into the alley and beat me up if I was not satisfied, I was blue and swollen and did not want to go home, and would rather be a beggar in the street.

She took me back, crying and saying sorry to me, and when she tried to clean my wounds, I always avoided them, and I couldn't take out that damn hateful anger on anyone else, and I had all the seizures with my mother who was treating me well.

The weak are always like this, venting all the grievances and anger they have received from the strong on the weakest.

Or, to someone closer to you.

I quarreled with her, I messed with her, I had a cold war with her, and my damn and strong self-esteem kept at work, making me jealous of everything around me.

But she never scolded me, she was always silent and gentle, hid in the bathroom and didn't come out, because I was tired and no longer noisy, she would come out and ask with a smile: "Xiaolan, is it okay for mom to cook you something to eat?" ”

I'd rather her quarrel with me and scold me, I hate her look of forbearance that she never knows how to refute.

At that time, I looked forward to growing up soon, leaving her soon, and when I was eighteen years old, I would be able to be self-reliant, and I would rather find a odd job at a gas station than stay in this suffocating place anymore.

On her eighteenth birthday, she didn't go out for business, but stayed at home to cook me a good meal and buy a palm-sized birthday cake, which was a luxury for our family.

She smiled and said to me, "Happy birthday, Xiaolan." ”

I didn't eat the food she cooked, I didn't blow out the candles, I didn't cut the cake, I packed my clothes and prepared to leave.

She didn't stop me, she just put some money on the table.

I didn't ask for her money, and when I was about to slam the door and leave, she stood in front of me, still gentle and silent, smiling and trying to touch my face, but I turned my head sideways to avoid it.

She withdrew her hand in a wrenched manner and said in a low voice, "Xiaolan, be a good person." ”

And I just sneered and pushed her away.

If there really was a time machine, I would wear it back and slash myself to death the unworthy self back then.

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