the thing i miss the most about her is her hair. it was always soft whenever i ran my fingers through it. i told her she should dye it black, so she bleached it an eye-blinding blond. i washed it, twirled it, adored it. now i miss it. even more, i miss holding it back while she used to throw up from drinking too much. it was a simple role, but one i dutifully undertook. now when she slides out of bed at 3 a.m. to throw up and ever-so-quietly wakes me, i bury my head in my pillow and cry.