Morning

Her hair was a rich chestnut, long, in pigtails that hung in spiral curls to her shoulders.
Her lace dress, purchased from an impromptu trip to France two weeks ago, was white with pink ribbons that matched the billowing ones tied in her hair.
Her skin was smooth and velvety - softer than the abundance of cashmere itemized in my closet and creamier than the sea of silk that clothed each bare bed in the rooms.
Her eyelashes were long and thick, to the point that other mothers whispered to one another, absurdly accusing me of applying makeup to her perfect, four-year-old features.
Her off-white, pale-sand mary janes, scrubbed clean daily from grass and mud stains, were an audio clue to her wherebouts, the "clap-clap-clap" accompanying her every movement.
Her unmatched pink and white socks, the backdrop to those mary janes, were a symbol of her defiance and an indication of how I once used to be; I was secretly proud.
Her hazel eyes, the only physical attribute reminiscent of her father, were alive: smiling, laughing, feeling, in harmony with the rest of her body.

My days were usually quiet and happy. I had a large house to share with my daughter, who filled the empty rooms with reverberating laughter, squeals of delight and hushed whispers of admiration. I was blessed, each day, with ten hours of blue skies, sunshine and soft breezes, during which we spent picnicking, taking walks, picking flowers and visiting nearby markets. The hours that I used to spend in luxury boutiques, looking for another pair of imported cashmere gloves or silk gowns were instead passed in mirrored closets, from where I watched my daughter peek at her new polka-dot dress from underneath a too-large, wide-brimmed hat that she had picked up from the top of my bureau.
Meals were simple and experimental. Chilled, sweet fresh fruit and crisp vegetables were always the main stars of the dish, accompanied by an experimental entree created according to her favorite ingredients of the day; except for that one occasion when she attempted to make a dish by herself (which resulted in melted chocolate and microwaved broccoli "soup"), we were never apart in the kitchen. We were never apart anywhere.

So you must understand how difficult this is for me, now that she's gone. I can't find her anywhere.