There are days when I forget, it is true, as it is true that I can not grab you, or kiss you, or meet at home.
Your life and mine are only memories, only found in them.
But everyday life is, boredom and pleasure, and time to be time to take away the memories, and although it is also true that no one pursues them, they appear.
Then my hand hurts when you do not find it, and it hurts not seeing you, Dad.
How you are now? How you'll be without me?
Memory is an animal that eats, sleeps and wakes, and when it does, not wanting to hurt us with her soul and all that surrounds it.
There are days when your grip becomes sweet or bitter, but there is she always essential, and eternal quiet, urgent
Some days, Dad, I'm dying to talk to you, to hear your voice. I need your words, your arms and forget the world.
Some days you are God, Dad, and that erases the distance between us.
lates Then I discover inside me, deep inside, away, an inmate at me.
much I love you, Dad, and I do not care if they sometimes do not write, because when I do, my life depends on it.
wish my baby wake you up so you have a good day.
I miss you, I want to think about you.
Today I will think about you.
Again, with all the love in the world.
Your daughter who LOVES ...
