She asked how he’s been doing and he shrugged his shoulders while he rested contented seeing her face after so long. After all, she’s been clocking crazy hours that even seeing the shadows of her parents’ asleep is a luxury. Then beneath all the silence, he whispered,
“Take care of yourself when I’m not around. Make sure you don’t go home too late and if you do, have someone to send you home.”
She nodded, quietly pocketting the tears whirling in the corner of her eyes as she looked into the distance outside the bedroom window.
That’s an episode in the true-life account of a father’s love for his only daughter. The illness has turned him into a quiet mess that sometimes it’s hard grasping and holding on to what faint memories I have left of the man who used to be the livewire of the family.
Find me a man who is worthy enough of my love; he must be able to cultivate such tears in my eyes at times of quiet peace such as these. If all else fails, he must be able to love me the way my father does. Sure he will never hold a candle against my father but if I can sniff the sincerity in him, half the battle is already won.