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Hair
Sometimes hair is brown as afternoon sunshine, or cinnamon rolls for breakfast, long and straight and beautiful like it belongs to a princess. Sometimes it's sleek, dark, and free as a black stallion. Sometimes you get lucky and curly with wild ringlets.
I ended up blonde, which is fine I guess. More canvas for creativity, I pretend. More space for colors, no need for bleach. But blonde was Momma’s color and it feels wrong for it to be mine, too.
I wonder if they have hair salons in heaven.
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He will wipe every tear from their eyes. There will be no more death or mourning or crying or pain, for the old things have passed away.
Revelation 21:4