The manifestation of my heart sits across the table.

I steal occasional glances her way. Rather, she steals my attention. With her big lashes batting away, eyes crinkling and twinkling and the corners of her mouth lifting in amusement at the pages held between her tiny hands.

There’s a rhythmic tapping against my shins as she swings her legs–which are far from reaching the floor–underneath our table. I like to think that the action isn’t completely subconscious–that some part of her is reaching out to make sure I’m still near.

I am. I always will be.

I don’t think she’ll ever know how much I love her, how much I’ve loved her and longed for her even before she was born…how impatiently I’ve waited for her and how she was the inspiration of my writings…and dreams.

Now here she is, barely two feet from me. My life with her so far has been a paradox of my stone heart shattering and being blissfully renewed in the exact same moment whenever I look at her. Or hear her giggle, or feel her hand in mine. Or see her eyes widen at the magic she sees in everything I've grown to take for granted.

Has a man ever known adoration stronger than this?

I don't know.

But what I do know is this: the manifestation of my heart and all the love it can ever possess sits here in this bundle of beauty and boundless hope.

And she just turned 4 today.