She likes to hold on to me. The first time she was in my arms, she held on to my finger with a tiny fierceness. Now she almost always finds a way to twist her fingers around my clothing. Sometimes I don’t even realize she is doing it. I look down to find her tiny fist gripping the collar of my shirt while she sleeps. What she doesn’t know is that she does the same thing to my heart. And that I’m holding her just as tightly, in my own way.