pop.

sometimes i call my dad "pop." sometimes i call him "papa." sometimes i sit next to him on the couch in my parents' little apartment. sometimes i lean against him while we watch "who's line is it anyway." sometimes he puts his arm around me. sometimes my head gets jostled when he laughs. sometimes he looks at me in a certain way, and i know that he's proud of me...glad i'm his daughter. sometimes he doesn't look at me at all. sometimes we laugh so hard our sides hurt. sometimes we hurt each other so much we cry. sometimes i just want to be little...to fit in his lap...to be the little girl with no opinion...who thought he was the strongest man alive. sometimes i wish i didn't speak my mind all the time. sometimes i wish i spoke my heart more. sometimes i just miss my dad. sometimes i cry because of it. because i love him so very deeply much.