Stolen Hugs

I am a dad. I have two boys, Six and Two. Even to write the word dad is still a relatively foreign thing to me when speaking of myself... but here I am. Sometimes I wonder if the hugs I steal are felt the way they are given. I want to hold them and squeeze them so hard that they cannot help but know that I can never fully express how much love I have for them. They break my things - I get mad - I hug them and ask forgiveness. They do amazing things, I hug them and tell them I am proud. They wake up in the morning - I hug them and tell them good-morning. They are just there... just sitting there - I look at them and I hug them. I never want that to stop. I want them to grow, but I want them to stay the same. I long to see them become men but don't want to loose the child I have been given. Hugs for my boys are like water on a dry tongue.

Stolen Hugs
you don't know my forearms are feeling your breath
you don't know the skin next to my eye is feeling your cheek
you don't know my head is feeling your hair
you don't know my life is breathing your voice
you don't know the blood in my veins knows the word
Daddy