Death of a princess

It was the early eighties. I remember every morning I would wake up and go straight to Papa. Sometimes he'd be awake but more often than not he'd be asleep. I still liked to have a look at him before I left for school. On weekends, I'd go and sit in his lap in the morning and continued to do so till I turned 12. I was his princess :) That's what he told me every single day. He would look at me with such tenderness and love that I totally believed him. I believed I was a princess, pampered and cared for; and I believed that I was born only to be loved or so I thought. I entered my teens with beautiful memories... Papa coming home in the evening, expecting me to be the first one to greet him, trying to keep me out of trouble if my mom was mad at me, talking to me for hours as one would talk to adults...sigh...Another couple of years and he and I started sharing similar interests; our love for books. Minutes would become hours and we would continue discussing our favourite poets and authors and books; oblivious to what was happening around us. Ammi would constantly tell us 'khana thanda ho raha hai' but we would be lost in our own world. Often he'd come to me and say ' koi farmaish karo'. I don't remember asking for anything much to his disappointment. I had what I needed. I needed love! I was one of those stupid people who thrive on love. That's all I ever wanted, all I ever needed, and I got plenty of that from Papa. He would dote on me. He used to say 'I often ask your mother what was there to live for when we didn't have these two' (me and my brother).
I entered a new phase of my life, leaving my parents behind collecting new memories on the way. Life went on with the usual ups and downs but I did get to experience what my parents did with me and Arsalan. I had a beautiful princess of my own and a cute little angel followed soon after her. I now knew what my father felt for me when he called me his little princess. I knew why his eyes lit up every time he saw me. I understood why he loved and pampered me so much.
Unfortunately I lost him to the evil hands of death ten years ago on May 9. A part of me died with him that night. Tonight, I crave love, if not from him then from the other man whom I love dearly. I only really loved two men in my life; my father and the love of my life. One might not be with me but I'm sure he's watching over me from the heavens; the other, I'm unable to tell how much I need him to listen to me tonight but I'm unable to reach out. I was always like this, I will always be like this...I'll always have this insatiable desire to be loved. Both men in my life loved me with a tenderness that would make my heart melt but at the same time it instilled a fear in me; the fear of losing them.
When a father loves his little girl, he makes her believe she's a princess; when a man loves a woman, he makes her feel like a queen. But when they are no longer a part of her life, she dies. The princess I once was, died ten years back with Papa; the queen in me died today, pining for love. Tonight I buried their silent, withered bodies...