Parents demand you choose a parent in the divorce. No pressure.
Pick me, proclaims Mother. She dons a starched smile. I can give you a nice townhouse, books. I’ll teach you ideas and philosophies, unlike your philistine father.
Pick me, proclaims Dad. I can teach you to fight, hide sensitivity. Learn to seize the world.
But they don’t speak a word about love. Don’t tell you how they view love and connection. They don’t mention what they love most in you.
They throw you like a football. You fly into the air, waiting to land in someone’s arms.
It never happens.