Whenever you reach for me, I try to soak up the feeling
of that tiny but chubby hand in mine,
your soft-as-silk skin nearly slipping from my grip,
your little fingers grasping mine
when you’re unsure of the ground beneath your feet
or where the path ahead might take you. 
My heart breaks whenever I envision the day
you’ll no longer reach up to hold my hand,
you’ll no longer need me for balance, assurance or comfort – 
the very things I get from you
when you place your hand in mine.