~Close your eyes and picture the warmth of the sun on your skin... that's how being loved by her felt~
Harry Styles is a nepotism baby turned new father, left clueless with a newborn baby to raise, he is overwhelmed and under pressure. Matters are...
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The slight jerking scratch of the record player finding its footing fills the room with the twinkling sound of the opening piano notes to the song.
"You know what time it is, Sunny?" My dad holds his hand out for me with a beaming smile that I cannot refuse.
I chuckle to him, having played out this very same routine a million times before in my life. My hand finds his and he hauls me from the couch with a light laugh and swings me into his arms.
From such a young age, my dad and I have danced around the living room to the song 'Vienna' by Billy Joel. It has been the same song for as long as I can remember and it has become our thing. According to my mom, it started when I was a baby but some of my youngest memories are of me standing on my dad's feet as he swings me around the living room singing the lyrics to me.
"Slow down you crazy child. You're so ambitious for a juvenile."
My cheek presses into his shoulder, while his lays on top of my head in the most gentle fashion. Holding one hand out, the other wraps around my back, rubbing up and down comfortingly.
We swing back and forth, my heart bursting with the familiarity of this moment that has always filled me to the brim with joy.
"Where's the fire, what's the hurry about?"
He sings the question into my hair, brushing the strands back from my face as we waltz around the living room.
"You better cool it off before you burn it out. You got so much to do and only so many hours in a day."
"I'm going to miss this." I mutter under my breath, suddenly being hit with the overwhelming sadness that seems to be taking up so much of my mind these last few months.
Dad stops singing, taking a slight step back to be able to see my entire face when I look up at him. Holding me at arms length, I see his eyes flick between my own watering ones with concern. "Why, sweetheart?"
"I'm just going to miss it and I-"
"Sunday, Sweetheart, you're only moving fifteen minutes down the road. It's not like I'm going anywhere... or you for that matter. You'll always be my little girl and we are going to dance to our song until I am old and grey and can't stand on my own anymore."
"I guess." I whisper, not being able to meet his eye and instead averting my gaze to my socked feet that are shuffling nervously along the rug.
A cold finger hooks under my chin, lifting my head and in turn my gaze.
"Are you sure you want to do this?"
The question is so loaded that I don't even know how to begin to unpack it. There are so many different thoughts that are weighing into how I feel about everything going on in my life right now. Nothing feels right and the more that I think about it, the tighter my throat starts to feel.
