When I hear her voice on the phone, the sweet little nothings that she says out magically become words, talking to me, asking about my day, telling me about hers.
And when I see the picture of her sleeping on her side, as she always seems to do now, I wish I were right next to her on a Saturday morning, the alarm clock quietened, looking at her, watching her sleep.
How I yearn to run my fingers through her hair, how I wish I were the reason for every small shy smile on her tiny lips.
And the sight that widens her eyes into joyous glee.
Oh, how I miss my daughter.
