When I was a child, I ran wild like my sister. When I was in junior high school, I read the novels she left for me. When I was a freshman in high school, she cut my nails in the warm sunshine of winter. I took her out of the house when she got married. I love her.
So Joshua sends chills down my spine. I don't know what kind of life this nine-year-old boy with An Ran's foggy eyes will have. And his father, whose life was not easy, was no better than his uncle who played the piano by his side.
He wants the attention of his parents. He is reluctant to participate in anything related to other people. He doesn't like football, he doesn't like softball. He sat on the edge of the court reading, sat on a park bench watching people in the park, spent the night stacking tall blocks, and then destroyed it. I don't like this kid. Like I don't like his neurotic mother.
But I pity him so much. He is only nine years old. How wicked a child who is not yet ten years old can be. His feelings are simple. Just to love. Not giving me the love I deserve is tantamount to abuse.
I don't want to have a little boy like this.
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