my hair has you in its clutches. my hair has you nearly blinded. my hair is wrapping you up like a spider storing its prey, and bringing you very close. in all the chaos you think you see me mouthing "I'm so sorry"
you find one of my hairs in your undershirt. you find one of my hairs in your sock. you find one of my hairs in your nose, and you pull it out, and you pull it out, and you pull it out, and you pull it out, and you pull
you embrace me, drawing me in for a kiss, but get a mouthful of hair. you clear my hair away from your mouth, or mostly, and realize you are embracing my hair. it is too late and I am nowhere to be found
you begin to count the hairs I leave on you, as a joke. then you begin to count the hairs on my head. sometimes I catch you doing it silently, lips moving, fingers so gentle. is this how religions start, I wonder
mathematically, a head of hair is a tree; even when the ends split, that's just a branching node beneath the root node. even when it tangles, that is not truly a cycle. there are no cycles. please understand that there are no cycles. please have faith that there are no cycles in my hair
I think this thread indicates that I am due for a trim. also, possibly, a mohawk
you see shapes in my hair, like clouds; one day, a beautiful flower, and you say hello and ask me my name. one day, you see a panther, and you approach me gingerly, bowing and scraping. one day you see an octopus, and, curious or repulsed, you ask me "what do you see in your hair?"
"I don't know what I saw in her," I confess like a bitter ex-girlfriend, and laugh. in truth, I see a wildfire
@byttyrs Lorde is that you?
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