You are

You are five or six, and he is your idol
You love it when he tells you stories
Of kings and princes, brave warriors, and devoted foot soldiers
Of dynasties and palaces, intertwining the past with the present
And in your dreams he is the hero of every battle

You are ten or twelve, and he is seldom there
You love it when he arrives home at night
You love that he hugs you tight, his clothes full of dust and sweat
His rough chin scratching your cheeks
You love it when he tells you about his day, the narrow escapes, the great deeds
And in your dreams he is the hero of every battle

You are fifteen, and things are different now
He comes home less often
You hear him wearily climb the stairs
He talks less, you listen less
He can't wait to get out of the suit
You can't wait to leave the room

You are old now, and he is older still
You love it when he tells his stories
But you don't fill the gaps
The images are duller now
The kings less benign, the princes never kind
The warriors cruel, the foot soldiers cheap
The dynasties brutal, and the palaces murder grounds

You both believed

You both trusted

Because

You so wanted it all to be true