Redhead.

I glanced down at the bulging black rubbish bag that held everything that was hers and that reminded me of her. I wanted this. To forget her.

But even after the bag went to the garbage, I could still feel her around me. Her smell was on every surface of the apartment, lingering. I wish I could forget Rosemary Connors. The way she would smile when she was hurt and cry when she was happy. The way her hair was as feiry as her passion for equity. How when she was thinking deeply she would bite her lower lip. The way that she was, even for a short amount of time, mine.