At 5 PM, you spoke of tiredness,
though all you really wanted was a snuggle, a squeeze,
a familiar moment held close.
And on that unfamiliar twin bed, we stretched the evening thin,
casting shadow puppets in the glow of the evening,
our once-nightly ritual now fleeting,
elusive as dreams in a restless mind.
We talked, we laughed, we whispered,
your words brimming with the earnest weight
only a four-year-old heart can bear.
"I love you, Daddy," you spoke.
A simple truth, soft as cotton,
the sweetest declaration New Year's ever knew.
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