Long moments.
Maybe that's all I ever wanted for my daughter,
To have the freedom to play for long afternoons, where the sun stretches out in warm yellows until after dinner,
To feel the security of being held and rocked gently until she falls deeply asleep, arms hanging loose in gravity's embrace, not put down too early,
To know that dad is still here for long conversations, where questions and curiosity do their slow dance, not hurried on by mental clocks and lists of to dos,
To read long stories, where imagination stretches and soars, old archetypes revived within the theatre of young minds, where there's another chapter and twist before the end,
To hold long hugs, not perfunctory hellos and routine goodbyes but deep, proud signatures of love leaving moments and memories marked,
To shed long tears, so that the sadness can rise and swell naturally, not caught in her throat or lodged in her heart, making past aches haunt long futures
To laugh long laughs, full body vibrations that ring out across the kitchen, infectious in their tone and sweeping seriousness and worries aside,
To live a long life, buoyed by the love and support of a childhood not gotten over, so that the loves she chooses can be full of long moments too.