It is a simple image. A slight touch that brings this feeling to my throat and this tear to my eye.  The innocence of love, the connection of a father and daughter.  The world twirls by at a million miles an hour, and there they sit, still, docile, loving, together. I capture their moment as if I was a part of what was happening, moved by their pure being, there willingness not to notice.  He strokes her hair as if nothing else mattered and nothing could ever possibly hurt, not here, not now, not in this perfectness that is relation.  Her eyes gently close as his gaze becomes admirable, he is knowledgeable.  He knows. She knows. Nothing will touch them, take it all away and it still remains, untouched, unharmed, indestructable.  Tears stream down my face accompanied with the recognition of them as them, and me as me, and father as father, and son as son, and daughter as daughter. The love is never lost.