I miss her. I miss her smile and I miss her eyes.
I miss her round cheeks and the touch of pink they held. I miss her small lips and I miss her odd eyebrows. I miss her frustrating hair and I miss her delicate fingers.
I miss her voice. I miss what words she'd form with that voice, which would form sentences which would form ideas which made more sense to me when she said them.
I miss the way she'd catch me looking at her and how she'd give a laugh.
I miss that most, her laugh.

I want to see her. I have to see her. If I'm going then I want to run in the moss of her irises one last time.

--Andria.