She had a thin face, a face you could trace with the slightest touch of your finger.

Her eyes were oceans of shades of blue, with a smallest ring of hazel around her pupil.

She had a small nose that you’d be so tempted to trap between your two fingers and giggle and laugh and say, “Haha, I got your nose!” but you didn’t because you didn’t want her to think you were childish.

Her hair was like intertwined slips of silk but were as beautifully brown as the bark of the big oak trees in my back yard.

Her cheeks were slim and had very high cheekbones and little freckles all over and sometimes I just wanted to lay there and play connect-the-dots with them.

She had bags under her eyes but not from lack of sleep but from the lack of attention she paid and the lack of such little happiness her body contained.

She had such small thighs I swear I could wrap my hands around them, but I didn’t dare.

Her perfectly plucked eyebrows went from thick to thin from the crease on her forehead she had from always squinting because of how bright the sun was when she was outside.

She had straight teeth that looked as if a dentist had constructed them.

She was so perfect; I used to lie there asking myself how that could be? I always had that silly imagine in my head that she was made in Frankenstein’s laboratory and the pieces of her were only chosen out of the most perfect of types.
Why did she have to go?

  t.c