Stay Another Five Minutes

It All Moves So Fast

The other night, you didn’t need me to tuck you in. I did, of course. But you were there with your book in one hand, the dog tucked in the crook of the other, lights dim, PJs on. The day was done.

I crawled in next to you, looked over your shoulder at what you were reading, scratched the pup.

“Want me to stay until you fall asleep,” I asked.

“Nope, I’m good.”

“Ok,” I said. “Need anything?”

“Nope.”

“Ok, I’m going to shut the door, ok?”

You nodded. Tomorrow’s another day, of course. No one needs someone everyday, not even a kid. Nothing new. Another evening. But it felt a bit different. You seemed more unafraid, less in need. Good things. Strong things.

Sometimes it feels like the stronger you become, the weaker I become. Does that even make sense? Your strength, your individualism, that’s the point, isn’t it? You being you is why we’re here. Why I’m even tucking you in, reading to you. You being you means it’s working.

Still.. next time, maybe ask me to bring you a glass of water. Humor me, baby. Ask me to stay another five minutes even if you don’t need me to. Because sometimes I need you to.