She had such beautiful hair, soft as a baby's. I loved to stroke her hair, to run my fingers through it whenever we were alone.

She always used the same shampoo, the pink bottle of Clairol. Whenever I held her close, I would breathe in that wonderful scent and feel such an intense ache inside me.

I bought a bottle of the shampoo and brought it wherever I went, just to remind me of her.

It just wasn't the same though; nothing could replace her hair, her wonderful hair.

Only her hands could surpass her hair in beauty.

I really couldn't bear the thought of not being able to touch her hair, not being able to breathe in that wonderful scent that was her.

I did what I had to do.