The Foreign Embassy

These days are long. I tend to wake up exhausted, plowing through my day job and struggling to carve out hours to write. But these are also days that include slow-dancing with my daughter, her head nestled against my chest, to the sounds of Bruce Springsteen singing "O Mary Don't You Weep" as the late afternoon sun fills the room, as I stroke her soft brown-going-on-blonde-going-on-red hair, as she sighs contentedly into my shirt, as tears well in my eyes for no reason whatsoever and my heart expands so much it hurts.

These days are long, but over too quick, and they are sprinkled with moments that make the other less enjoyable hours pale and inconsequential in comparison.