love is a fickle, fickle thing.

his mother had loved him, but she had taken her own life, knowing the life she would be condemning him to.

his father had never loved him, no, his father had always seen him as a burden, a problem, a freak.

the girl, had he loved her? maybe under different circumstances he could have, but he had not truly loved her, he did not know what that felt like.

did his foster parents love him?

he had not been able to believe them, he simply could not fathom that anyone could love someone as fucked up as him, not at first.

slowly, very slowly, did he start to understand how that felt.

and it did not happen in weeks or months, it took years for him to understand what that felt like.

and it took years for him to finally, finally, love them in return.

ah, love. such a strange thing.

eventually the boy grew into a man, and he did date a beautiful woman, and they had children together. three of them, in fact.

and eventually those three children grew up and had children, and the boy and his wife turned into grandparents, but the boy's past remained unknown.

that is, until his sixtieth birthday, when he finally told his firstborn child all he could remember, and gave her a small, weathered down notebook.

the notebook that he had written at eighteen, with all the events of his childhood.

the notebook that i turned into a story,

and you just finished reading.

much prouder of this ending than the original.
i love moonlight, and i can't wait to share all the other stories i have planned with all of you.

thank you for all of your support and love, i love you all so much.

xoxo,
alisha