Ella (Part 2)

That cereal was Ella’s.

Ella was a girl with honey-blond hair that she twisted into messily done braids with wisps of her tresses curling around her ears that seemed to glow underneath the gleam of the sun, and Ella was a girl with bright, green eyes that resembled the leaves of a walnut tree in the summer. I had those bright, green, walnut tree-esque eyes too but they never looked as good on me as they did Ella. Ella had eyes that twinkled, that glimmered, and that sparkled. Maybe my eyes did that too but then Ella was gone and my eyes became dull, unpolished, and murky. Ella was a girl with a boisterous laugh, one that giggled, one that made you laugh too. Ella was a girl who sang country songs in the passenger seat of our mother’s car, her bare feet propped up on the dashboard, her chipped, baby blue nail polish seeming to look beautiful on her delicate toenails, and her voice had a southern drawl to it when she sang that my mother never understood, the origin unknown and a mystery

Ella was perfect.

And Ella was gone.

Ella was.

The word “is” just never accompanied her name anymore.

Because.

Ella was gone.