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So here it was my little colorful life. I was his wonder wall, and he was my permanent dream in this world. His smile always made him fully dressed, where ever he went. Strawberries, he made me love them, because a strawberry’s field was the sweetest to eat with sugar on top, to seize the best taste of a day. He took me everywhere. We would sleep under his cloak in the woods, naming the stars. We would watch the wax moon rise every night; “I want to see a star that reminds me of you, Daddy” I would whisper to his ear.
He was the strongest, and had a plan for everything in his life. He was a man who held everything carefully in the palm of the hand. His youthful years made his eyes so shiny, and full of life. I was his life. I was his princess that he gave the perfect images of this world. So I grew up in the modest life, knowing nothing but the beautiful blue sky, where the size of it was relative, but the beauty was not. I held something stunning in my hands while collecting my thoughts together that day, I remember. It was a butterfly.
I caught it; “Daddy, look what I have in the palm of my hand” I yelled, while opening and making the gap bigger in between my two little hands.
He smiled, and whispered, “Let it go, my princess,” carefully opening my hands wider and wider, within seconds. He told me that holding a butterfly was like holding my own happiness, trapped. So I let it fly.
My father never told me how to live; he lived and just let me watch him do it. He made me understand the meaning of a child, which I always compared to an angel, because that’s who I was. He was a bright shining example and a happy twinkling in my heart. There was something like a line of gold thread running through his words every time he talked to me; and just now, getting the flash back of it made me realize that gradually over these years it became long enough for me to pick up in my hands and weave into a cloth that felt like love itself. However, I had only one question in my head; did he forget it all?
Sitting in my room, and looking at that old album forced me to break down and make my tears into raindrops. I was all grown up now, and the fairy tale was gone. My father taught me how to love, but he forgot what love was for himself and now the beautiful images were just images, full with memories that had no presence, nor future. I sat on the floor in my room, flipping through pages of colors of my childhood and convinced myself that feelings die, sooner or later, they sink rotting into the soil and worms slobber over them. I forced myself to believe that it was my fault, and it was me who poisoned them with my busyness of my own growth. I made my father slink around, absolutely, and sobbingly miserable.
I stood up, and ran downstairs tripping over my own feet, passing right by him and catching his eyes that caught mine. I remember his heart was so beautiful, but now his look made it seem just beautifully frozen. I turned around and caught up to him with tears in my eyes, that made my eyes look bloody.
“Daddy, what’s wrong? You haven’t told me a story for so long? Daddy, Are you mad?” I couldn’t resist myself from these questions, but these were the only words I have formed for him. I sat down and looked at my father, with the lines of loneliness on his face, who was facing me in a moment and questioning me.
“Nothing is wrong with me; it’s you who forgot to ask for a story. He raised his voice at me, pointing his finger to the door. I couldn’t hold the tears anymore again, so I ran upstairs to my room, shutting the door with my right foot.
It was a miserable night, because the thoughts didn’t let my head rest. I knew he didn’t mean it. It was just the anger blocking the sound of his beating heart. He was in the world of war with himself, because he couldn’t understand where he went wrong. He blamed me for learning his lesson too well to love myself and follow my dreams. Now, he only looked at me as a bad student who didn’t know how to learn in life. So that was it, “yes” was the new “no”, and I couldn’t live with his heart gone anymore, because I missed him. I missed my father, and I missed his warmth, because I needed it. I needed him to help me understand life better, and let him know, that without him it was like living without sunshine; lifeless.
I woke up that morning, with my raising heart, and stretched my eyes, while absorbing every detail in my room. I planned to stay in bed for entire day and recount the years that flew by so fast, until I heard a sound of cry downstairs. I put my robe on, without tying it strong enough that soon I was tripping over. I followed the sound, which led me to the kitchen and saw my father sitting. He had a glass of water in his hand, and his tears that refilled it over and over again. I walked closer to him, questioning him with my eyes, because my lips were speechless. “Daddy, is everything ok?” I asked him, with the thought in my head that this was my first time seeing him cry. Few seconds passed, and he looked at me with his bright red eyes full of water, opening his arms wide open. “Come here, little princess”, he whispered to me.
From that moment I knew everything will be alright. The tears were his apology for the way he made me feel, for not accepting that I was stronger than him, and for hating me because of it. He thought me how to live, and this time he needed me to remind him, his own lesson. Since then everyone looked at me with the wonder in their eyes, questioning my love for him, but how can you say why you love someone? A thousand reasons crisscross the heart, but at the center no reason at all, only the mystery of that person. I loved him and I was there for him all along.