𝐛𝐨𝐨𝐤 𝐨𝐧𝐞 𝐨𝐟 𝐭𝐰𝐨.
gilmore girls universe.
𐙚 | B L U E ˖⁺‧₊˚♡˚₊‧⁺˖
─── blue eyes like the sea on a
cold, rainy day
❝ 𝘉𝘓𝘜𝘌 𝘌𝘠𝘌𝘋 𝘉𝘌𝘈𝘜𝘛𝘠 𝘊𝘈𝘓𝘓𝘌𝘋 𝘓𝘜𝘊𝘠 𝘋𝘈𝘕𝘌𝘚 ❞
Luciana Danes is the daughter of the famous Luke Dan...
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December 6th, 2000
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[ LUCY'S POV ]
I WAS BORN ALONE.
I'm often reminded that I was born to a mother who didn't want me. I often remind myself that, if she hadn't had left me, I wouldn't have a dad that has made every single birthday of mine special for the last sixteen years.
I used to wonder if my mother thought of me on this day. I wondered if she regretted leaving me, or if she's living her best life knowing that she isn't tied to me. Now, I don't think about her because I love my life, and I love the people who continue to make my life better. I love my dad, and if she hadn't left, I probably wouldn't even know him.
I'm lucky for the life I have. My dad gave up everything to take care of me, to love me, and to raise me the way he did. Without him, I wouldn't be the person I am today.
And I'm reminded how lucky I am when my dad comes to sit on my bed at 4:44am— the time I was born and my angel numbers. Freaky right? I was born at 4:44am on December 6th, 1984 to a woman who didn't want me but to a man that has loved me continuously for sixteen years.
I stir awake, my eyes blinking open to find my dad leaning against the bed frame. "Happy birthday," he says, nudging me, and my head tilts into his arm.
"Thank you," I reply, a yawn leaving my mouth.
He pats a hand against my head, brushing my hair away from my face as I yawn again, my arm cuddling around his arm.
"I can't believe how fast you're growing up." It's been sixteen years of me being in everybody's lives, and these sixteen years have been pretty great. I mean, I can't complain.
Dad has made it a tradition to wake me up at the time I was born every single year since I could talk. I used to find it exciting to wake up early but now I find it tiring and a little annoying. Some part of this tradition is sweet but I wish I was born during the day.
I groan, my arms stretching out in front of me. "Why was I born so early?"
"Beats me, kid."
I look up to Dad, my eyes tired and watering from how much I yawn. "Are you satisfied with your life so far?" he asks, like he does every year.
I always have the same response. "Hmm. I don't have any complaints." I never do have complaints about my life which pleases my dad. "I think it's good, don't you?"
