In the wee morning hours, while the world sleeps, thoughts of my fiya burns brightly and with substantial heat.

My child is growing without her father, regardless.  It pains me that she will never be under my command. She is a seeker of a man's comfort and in all due rites, it is my comfort that she seeks in another man, a male.

A father's role in a child's life is a decent responsibility. It is honorable and respectable lifelong deal, or until the child exceeds legal commitment.

I find myself seeking her out, my sweet fiya, and finding comfort in women. Not the mother. I did not fully accept her, the mother, and we were forced to cut the courtship short upon pregnancy. It was forged in a manner that sits uncomfortably with me. Forevermore.
My intentions were to save and although it forced my hand many times, I do not see why her love is not reciprocated from me.

The flames grow in my guts and it leaves a charred taste in my mouth. My fiya, my sweet fiya, will grow free of a circumstantial monsoon rain. She will grow in size and warmth.

Eternamente, filha, eu sou seu pai.
Eu te amo, linda.