My daughter is now a year and 8 months old. She is the brightest, sweetest, most amazing creature I've had the joy of knowing in this world. That I adore her is quite the understatement, as surely it must - and should! - be for every father. I am sometimes left to gaze in wonder at her way of looking at the world. In running after her at the park as she herself chases down helpless pigeons while cackling with unadulterated delight, I am moved by her little motions and her every reaction to the world around her. She already recognizes locations outside of her house quite clearly, letting me know where she wants to go vocally while pointing at her desired destination. Everything she engages in is like ambrosia to me.
I truly wish, as I have been doing ever since my daughter's first weeks of life outside the womb, that she wouldn't have to grow up. As a father, I want her to find self-fulfillment and self-realization, but all-to-often I find myself longing for every second that passes and all those that have already passed. Wishing I could meld myself into my daughters very essence and therefore be one with her every step of the way, to both give her comfort and solace as well as to bear witness and enjoy every step of her progress through life. Alas, it is an impossibility and I will, like many fathers before me, become a victim to the cruel master Time and its ravages, as I long to forever have "my little girl" to hold.
This article at this particular gaming-centric site tugged at my heart strings and it certainly did so with more people than just me as is evinced by the comments. Read on.
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Time. What a bastard.
In the guise of a friend it comes, makes you feel confortable. Sometimes numb. Promises of aeons ahead, only to wake up one day closer to our final breath.
Our back scarred from his many stabs. His many lies.
What should last forever dissolves in a flash, that which is torture a lifetime lasts.
Damn you, bastard Time.
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