Nineteen years. Nineteen whole years since that fateful morning when I felt lost because you were nowhere in sight. When I asked someone I have only always seen with you, about your whereabouts because the crowd was daunting. A lifetime since I wondered why you never came back home to take me in your arms and pamper me. Eons since I have learned to take care of everything and everybody around me.
But then, why is it that at every turning point in my life I want you to be proud of me? Why is it that I can always feel your love for me? With every good thing in life, why do I still feel your caring presence? That you are holding my hand and taking me along like you did on the beach, all those summers ago? Is this what everybody meant when they said you will live on forever in our hearts?