You entered the picture and lit my world with laughter and light and wonder. Welcome and warm. You ran by me, a dart of the eyes, a quick glance, flicking of sweat off your fingertips, and I wanted to take a shower, wash off Dad, and bathe in you. So much of what I am, he made. Forged it in me. I know that. But Dad used pain to rid me of pain. Leaving me empty and hurting. You poured in you and filled me up. For the first time, I felt no pain. You gave me the one thing he never did. Love, absent a stopwatch.