It was never a choice. It was a surname.
You don't remember becoming a fan, the same way you don't remember learning your own name. It was in the house before you were — the colors, the moods, the Sundays organized around it, a grief and a joy you were issued like a birth certificate. The Eye has traced what this wiring did to everything else: you love by lineage. Your closest bonds feel less like choices and more like facts; loyalty, for you, isn't a decision you made but a place you're from. You hold on to people the way you hold the team — through relegations, through embarrassments, through years that gave you nothing back — because leaving was simply never presented as one of the buttons. It makes you the most steadfast person most people will ever meet. And it leaves one question the Eye knows you've held at 1am: which of your loves did you actually choose, and which did you just... inherit and never audit?
Get your read — free on iPhoneInherited love is real love — but run the audit once. Choosing the thing you were given, on purpose, as an adult, turns a hand-me-down into yours. Same team. New contract.
you've never audited the loves you were issued at birth. the eye checked: some of them you'd choose again. some you've just never put down.
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