— two stories, one silence —
________________________________________
A father…
takes down a photograph
not gently
not carelessly
but like it still breathes
like it still holds warmth
… 👨👧🖼️ …
He presses it
to his chest
the same way he once held
his child
close
safe
whole
… 👨👧🖼️ …
He remembers her…
the sound of her laughter
how it filled rooms
without trying
how sunlight seemed
to follow her
like it knew
she belonged to it
… 👨👧🖼️ …
A twinkle in her eye
chasing butterflies
like the world
was nothing but wonder
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And he remembers that moment—
when she told him
what she’d become
the pride
Heartful… the pride
that lived in his chest
… 👨👧🖼️ …
He smiled
he kissed her goodbye
like fathers do
like it’s just another day
… 👨👧🖼️ …
But war…
war doesn’t recognise love
it doesn’t pause
it doesn’t care
about laughter
or butterflies
or fathers
… 👨👧🖼️ …
It writes its own ending
in smoke
in fire
in silence
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And sometimes…
daughters come home
but not as they left
not with laughter
not with light
… 👨👧🖼️ …
but wrapped
in something heavier
than any father
should ever have to carry
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And somewhere else—
another father
stands with another photograph
… 👨👧🖼️ …
This one…
his son
… 👨👦🖼️ …
He remembers strength
growing year by year
small hands
becoming steady
a boy
becoming a man
… 👨👧🖼️ …
Laughter that echoed
not soft
but full
alive
… 👨👦🖼️ …
He watched him grow
with pride
with hope
with that quiet belief
that everything
would be alright
… 👨👧🖼️ …
because that’s what fathers do
they believe
even when the world
gives them reason not to
… 👨👦🖼️ …
And when life twisted—
when the path turned
when things became uncertain
he stood there
steady
unmoving
supportive
… 👨👧🖼️ …
because love
doesn’t step back
… 👨👦🖼️ …
But war…
war doesn’t ask
who is loved
it doesn’t choose gently
it doesn’t spare
… 👨👧🖼️ …
It takes
and takes
and takes
… 👨👦🖼️ …
And sons…
they come home too
… 👨👧🖼️ …
but not always whole
not always smiling
not always the same
… 👨👧🖼️ …
sometimes carrying
things no one can see
sometimes leaving
pieces of themselves
behind
… 👨👧🖼️ …
And in the quiet—
in the stillness
after everything
there are fathers
holding photographs
like they’re holding
time itself
… 👨👧🖼️ …
remembering
what was
what should have been
what will never
be again
… 👨👧🖼️ …
because love…
doesn’t end
even when everything else
does
… 👨👧🖼️ …
— Paul Baldry (LongJohn)