Maybe I didn't know...

I came home to a sleeping girl. I crept into her darkened room and began to type. I don't think I've slept as Zoey sleeps in decades. There is too much on my mind, not enough time to balance life's ledgers each day. She'll wake up and groggily grasp for Daddy, and she'll find my shoulder and tuck her face into my neck and sleep even sounder than she had before. That would be nice to try now, but we're grown and so the opportunity is gone.

She snores, a little, and she smiles when she dreams. Sometimes she'll even tell you the story of her smile, if she remembers. She has little, tucked in feet, and damp curls, and she has no idea how beautiful she is. She might never. It would be impossible to comprehend the vulnerability I feel with her in my life. She couldn't possibly grasp the faith that my head and heart find when they fall on her. So she sleeps, and I type, and I wonder what, if anything, could have punctured the shell I grew around my heart before I first saw her.

I came home early, hid myself away in her shadowy room, dreamt a million waking dreams of her while she softly snored, and I think, maybe I didn't know what love was until now.