You were a good kid. Really. But no God wanted you, and well, you always were in the hands of, whatever, any god. They just didn't want you, even thought you were the kid of someone between them, they just didn't knew which.

That's when Buddha finally took you in. He raised and took care of you just as if you were his. A true father, you could say.

He was looking at you while you drew in your sketchbook. He remembered when you used to draw some sketchy sketches, stick people. And now here you were, drawing with perfect precision. He loved you. He loved you as if you had came from him.