Her hair. He loves the feeling of it as he presses the pads of his fingers to the dark, silky strands.
Her smile is wondrous and enchanting, and as she squints in the sun, her eyes narrow but her lips only widen.
Her laugh is a sound to brighten up the dullest of his days. It rings in his ears like church bells, connecting his soul to the angels.
Her fingers are small in his Papa Bear hands, they're soft, white-pink, and delicate.
Her skin is warm against his lips when he kisses her. She tastes like sweetness and smells like love.
Her delight brings him joy, her pain brings him despair. The thought of anyone bringing harm to her makes his blood turn cold.
Her brow furrows when she's cranky, her cheeks reddening in frustration, but when she's happy, she looks at him with love, like all the world is him. He is her light, her savior, her best friend and protector.
Sometimes, like now, when she's sleeping, she's so at peace and his world is peaceful in kind.
He leans over his daughter's crib, just gazing at her, his cherub, his perfect creation. His wife joins him at his side and lays her head on his shoulder, joining him in marveling over the little life they've made together. It strikes him in that moment, but is ever apparent the way his love for his little girl lights him up so.
She is just like her Mama.