I miss my parents more than I thought I would at 30.

That's not to say I forgive them, or want to speak to them, or want to actually see them.

Maybe I don't miss my parents, but I miss the thought of having parents at all. The safety and idealism of being able to fall back into someone's loving arms.

Except, what I experienced wasn't love at all..  wasn't familial bonds, wasn't safety, wasn't security, wasn't the basic needs of my childhood being fulfilled...

I often joke I was raised by a wolf pack. But only if that wolf pack was a lone wolf, myself, by myself always as leader of a pack.

I still hoard canned goods like the apocalypse might happen, like I might not have money, like I might have to throw a couple things in a pan and make it edible for three kids

I miss my parents, or what should have been parents but was instead a cold dark cave with nothing but the growls of hungry bellies.

I miss the wolves, oh wait, my parents, oh wait, when I look in the mirror I see her cheekbones and his eyebrows and I can't help but want to push my fist right through the glass.

The wolves, I mean black sheep, I mean parents that begot me always haunt my reflection, always come through in the worst ways as I reflect on my life, how do you reflect on this and feel gratitude?

I miss my parents, or the idea of having parents, I guess.