It was early
Or late
Ungodly
On earth he
Says that
As a term
When he
Wants to say something is extreme
Like the sound
Of a toddler’s screams
Waking him up form a dream
Something about a fairy tale
But he can’t remember
It fails
His brain
To become conscious
Over high pitched wails
“Go get her for me.”
“She’s not my daughter.”
Before that was meant to get a chuckle
But now
The edge was softer
Slowly hardening
So there was less laughter
Before
He would have moved faster
To look after
The bundle of joy
He had inherited
And she would look on
With a smile
Seeing him
As the perfect father
To her child
Reluctantly
After a while
He climbs from under the covers
Makes it to the crib next door
Hovers
Watching
The face
Melts away his frustration
“It’s okay little one.”
He says without hesitation
“it’s only a dream.”
She gets quiet
Eyes blinking
As if she understands what he means
Hiding his face
Brings a smile to her cheeks
Not knowing
That he’s wondering
If he’d still be around in her teens
Should he leave now
Before memories started to form
And he was just an in between
A place holder
“Dada”
This time the words came out clean