A man is tired. He crosses the threshold of his home with the weight of a long stressful day hanging on his shoulders. He falls into his chair with a groan and reaches down to loosen his laces. He pulls the worn and battered boots off his feet, peels off his socks, and sits back with a sigh. The cool air on his toes is the most satisfying thing he’s felt all night. The man gets up and walks to his fridge. A story is told in his walk of the things he has dealt with today, this week, this year. He is tired. The sort of bone deep weariness that good nights sleep doesn’t fix. He pulls a cold beer from the fridge and stumbles back to his chair, clicks the tv to the morning news and let’s his body relax. A girl sleepily shuffles into the living room rubbing the sleep from her eyes with an adorable little yawn.

“Good morning daddy.”

He kisses her on the forehead.

“Good morning baby girl. What are you hungry for this morning?”

A man is tired. Weary to the core of his being. She is worth every second of his struggle. She is the reason he breathes.