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Those Days Are Gone

Those days are gone—

like that tattoo on your wrist, faded and worn.

When she danced in joy,

my eyes brimmed with tears.


She loved to hold my hand,

and I’d wrap it around her wrist,

feeling her heartbeat—

a quiet song meant only for me.


She’d return my touch with mischievous giggles,

always eager to run,

to chase the world with shining eyes.


That anklet on her feet,

those tiny earrings—

they were my greatest treasures.


And when I went mad

about the tattoo you once had,

you masked it with random scribbles.

But still—

only I could feel the rhythm beneath,

the life that danced in your veins.


Now, when I hold her wrist,

my love for you flows into her—

two hearts beating the same sweet hymn.


She is my queen, my princess.

And as I kneel,

running my hand through her hair,

planting a kiss upon her forehead,

I whisper a vow:


“You will be my last love—

and I will be your first.”


And with that beautiful smile,

she says,

“I love you, Dad.”

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