If I am your child…

Please touch me.

Persist; find ways to meet my needs. Your touch is the language of love—the silent poetry that bridges the gap between hearts. In your embrace, I discover safety, warmth, and the promise that I am not alone in this vast, uncertain world.

Your goodnight hug helps sweeten my dreams. As the day’s shadows lengthen, and the moon tiptoes across the sky, your arms wrap around me like a soft cocoon. In that moment, worries dissolve, and the weight of existence lifts. You whisper, “Rest, my dear,” and I drift into slumber, cradled by your affection.

Your daytime affection tells me how you really feel. It’s in the small gestures—the tousle of my hair, the shared laughter, the way you linger when you say goodbye. These are the brushstrokes of love, painting our shared canvas. You teach me that love isn’t just grand declarations; it’s found in the mundane, the everyday magic of connection.

If I am your teenager…

Please touch me. Adolescence—a labyrinth of contradictions. I’m almost grown, yet not quite. Beneath the bravado, I crave reassurance. Your touch becomes my compass, guiding me through the maze of identity, hormones, and heartache.

Don’t think that because I’m almost grown, I don’t need to know that you still care. The world outside can be harsh, and sometimes I pretend indifference to shield myself. But your arms—those familiar, imperfect arms—are my sanctuary. They say, “You matter. You’re seen.”

I need your loving arms; I need a tender voice. When life bruises my spirit, your touch heals. Your voice—the lullaby of understanding—echoes in my soul. You listen without judgment, and in your presence, I find solace. So, hold me close, even when I push away. Remind me that love transcends age, rebellion, and uncertainty.

If I am your child, please bring me peace.

And you do. With every touch, you weave a tapestry of belonging. In your arms, I find refuge from storms—both external and internal. So, dear parent, keep touching me. Your hands are the compass, the map, the home I return to—a love story etched into skin and memory.

And if I am your child, thank you for bringing me peace.

? Beatriz Esmer