Mihael Gudovskih — Взрослая дочь

Once you fell asleep to my quiet voice and believed that dad could do anything. And now you’re grown — and the hardest thing for me is to accept exactly that.

I remember bows, toys, children’s laughter till dark, how you ran to me crying: “Dad, read me dreams.” Before bed you asked for a fairy tale, nestling so warm, and it seemed our time would never slip away.

You held my hand as if a whole world were in it, as if with dad nearby there was no trouble, no fear. But the years flew by so fast — can’t catch them, can’t return — and already my grown daughter’s own path begins.

My little girl no longer asks for a fairy tale, doesn’t call me at night to drive her childhood fear away. She has her own roads now, her own colors, her own thoughts of love and of big dreams.

My little girl no longer asks for a fairy tale — only the heart finds it hard to fully accept. You’re growing older every day, my dear, but I still want, as before, to cover you up.

No toys on the bed — instead of dolls, a phone; instead of children’s tears and tales — adulthood’s marathon. You have your secrets, meetings, plans and affairs, and yet it seems just recently you were a little one.

I know it all: that’s how it must be — life always goes forward. Only the heart, as before, still keeps your childhood safe. Somewhere in memory remains: a quiet evening, warm light, and my voice above the crib, when you were so young.

My little girl no longer asks for a fairy tale, doesn’t call me at night to drive her childhood fear away. She has her own roads now, her own colors, her own thoughts of love and of big dreams.

My little girl no longer asks for a fairy tale — only the heart finds it hard to fully accept. You’re growing older every day, my dear, but I still want, as before, to cover you up.

May you meet only sincere light. May your life hold neither betrayal nor misfortune. If someday the path turns cold for you — know: with dad, as before, you can find your strength.

My little girl no longer asks for a fairy tale, but I still ask the heavens for happiness for you, that love be mutual, pure, and clear, that your fate be bright and kind.

My little girl no longer asks for a fairy tale, but for dad you’ll stay the same — that little one who once fell asleep to my voice, my own.