Hair.

On a Sunday afternoon at the park a little girl grasps onto monkey bars like the metal of them clutches onto the suns warmth. She tries to get a hold of the next bar but her auburn hair lightened by the rays of what seems to be an ever present friend falls into her face shielding any sense of sight. So she slips and

drops

and

cries.

This was the first time she wanted to cut her hair. She didn’t need it for it was only an obstacle to her happiness.

A year later her hair had grown back to what was once the root of her pain. She kneeled on the colourful carpet in her kindergarten group and brushed through her dolls luscious long locks when she felt a tug on her head followed by a sharp noise. As she stood up and turned around her eyes caught a boy with bright eyes and big smile holding onto a ponytail, her ponytail. With dowy eyes,

she

drops

and

cries.

This was the first time she wanted her hair back, long and luscious like the the ones on her dolls head she brushed moments ago.

A few years pass and the girl stands before her mirror wiping away and reapplying a strawberry gloss to her to her lips before meeting a boy to proclaim her ever growing love to him. She wasn’t quite sure, was it too much? She settled for the sticky gloss as if it would make her confession sound sweeter to his ears. It didn’t. Somehow a small anticipated interaction turned into the cause for her world to loose all its color. She runs home, shuts the door and

drops

and

cries.

This was the first time she wanted to color her hair, if she couldn’t see the world in color she could at least try to become one of them.

A few years pass and the girl sits on her bed, everything is quiet. The halls her mother used to roam were a constant reminder of her absence. The safest place for her tired heart was her bed which imitated the warmth and comfort her mothers arms used to give. Sometimes she tries to get up and function despite her grief. But she is too weak so she

drops

and

cries.

This was the first time she wanted her natural hair color back as her reflection stared back at her through the glass of the picture frame which held the little girl and her mother, both blue eyed and brunette.

The girl is now a women. She just came home from work and decides to shower. She works with kids and writes poetry and songs on the side. She just bought 24 new black ball point pens which seem to drain out by themselves every week but its okay she can afford it, she can take care of herself now. As she stands in front of the mirror brushing her long dark brown hair still drenched from the shower she

stops

and

smiles.

This is the first time she doesn’t want to change her hair, it holds no recollection of past haircuts or bleach and color damage, it has all grown out. Her hair is healthy and strong, as is she.