Fear of the past and relative pain. Future's comin' fast, you've got nothin' in the tank

He was singing while thinking of you, his wife. You met when you were both 25 and got married after just one year of relationship. He was never the one to rush things, but he has never been surer about something. He remembers how you started smiling, laughing and crying while you were saying “You’re an idiot, why in front of everyone? Yes, of course, I’ll marry you, but I also hate you right now”.

When he held your firstborn in his arms, he thought how much he would’ve missed if he listened to all those voice in his head when he was younger, telling him he wasn’t enough for all this. And now he was there, singing in front of thousands of people the song he wrote when you finally made him feel like he was a person, an actual person deserving of love. When he saw his daughter dancing in front of him for the first time.

You have it down, that old fight for survival. Push on through. You're in the crowd at her first dance recital. Push on through

He hadn’t meant to cry while singing the last verse, but when he thought about his little girl twirling on the side stage in her pink tutu, the one with his eyes and your laugh, he couldn’t help it.

When he came back home that night you were in the kitchen, laughing about something the kids said. You all were still awake, probably because you watched the concert.

He stood there for a second, his hand still on the doorknob, drinking it in. And then—

“Daddy!”

Your daughter ran, barreling toward him with little feet slapping against the hardwood. He dropped his bag just in time to catch her in his arms, spinning her around as she clung to him. “I missed you!” she said into his shoulder.

Your son followed more cautiously, but Spencer dropped to one knee, pulling him in with the other arm, holding them both like his life depended on it. When he finally looked up, you were standing there, arms crossed over your chest, smiling.

Push on through, he thought.