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When I was a child my parents didn’t listen to me. My sister once told me it’s because I didn’t have anything relevant to say and they were too busy. To this day, I still have nothing relevant to say, but you do listen to me, even though you’re busy… it’s not like you do it out of obligation either, or at least it doesn’t feel like it. Sometimes I’ll be explaining some really nerdy shit and I’ll realize oh, damn, I’ve been talking for too long I should stop and when I do stop and turn to look at you, hoping you’re not tired of me, you’re watching me intently, patiently waiting for me to continue on my stupid ramble, because you care about what I’m saying. You care about the things that are important to me. The first time it happened I bursted into tears and you were really worried; you comforted me, you wiped my tears with your fingers, and I always feel so cold but that day my chest lit up like a nice big bonfire, enough to warm me up through even the worst days.