Nine-year-old girl in search of calm, safe father.
Who can stand tall and steadfast in the gales of my furies and confusions.
Who can guide me without boring me.
Who can remind without nagging.
Who can tell funny jokes.
Who will accept me as I am, for life.
Where did I lose myself amid her outbursts and the eggshells?
When did my sands start to erode?
When did I start to think that tension would shore us all up a bit longer?
When did I learn that feelings are so dangerous?
How do I reach her across the sudden shifts from play to sulk, from joy to anger?
How do I hold her however she is? How do I hold myself?
How do I allow all her passions, fears, and furies?
How do I do this, without stamping on her? Without stamping on me?