and you lean down,
just home from a long day,
first your daughter,
then me.
your neice.

press your lips to our foreheads,
and tell us you love us.

it makes me hold back tears everytime.

my own father won't kiss my forehead.

but you,
my uncle,
the one I only see a couple times a year,
you, (not my father)
will kiss my forehead goodnight
and tell me you love me.

and writing this,
I'm crying.

I'm crying,
wishing that...

wishing that I was able
to take those kisses for granted.
that I wasn't so dissapointed
when I have to go home.

because I know that the warmth
and love those simple little kisses give,
(the ones your children take for granted),
won't be there when I get to my father's.

so while I'm writing this,
I'm crying.

wishing you were here.

here to lean down,
first your daughter,
then me.
here,
to press your lips to our foreheads
and tell us that you love us.

wishing for the goodnight kisses
my own father won't give.