He should be like your father

He should hold you close
and always keep his arms open,
just in case you need them.

He should make you smile
and make you laugh uncontrollably
until you double over in laughter,
until your lips are forced to curve upwards,
until you are out of breath
but full of love and full of pleasure.

He should be like your father

He should talk to you softly,
like you are a feather and he is wind.

He should hold your hand gently,
running his fingers across your skin
in a sense-awakening yet soothing way,
one that melts your heart
and turns your veins to ice.

He should be like your father.

He should wipe your tears
every time they dampen your cheeks,
though it might happen frequently.

He should love you unconditionally:
when you wake up
and when you go to sleep
and when you share a meal
and when you feel unlovable
and when you are insecure.

He should love you
even if you can’t yet love yourself.

He should be like your father.