There's not a day this month I have not slouched over gazing at the strands of my hair that hang over my shoulders reaching far down to my waist.
It gives me an ounce of pleasure to see it's length, for it has not been this long in years.
Although, that ounce is never enough to suffice. It is quickly washed over as I continue to gaze upon the strands.
I sort through strand upon strand, as if I have made some new discovery and am studying to just understand it all.
I remember being younger, the morning of days spent getting ready for school, much time spent in the restroom brushing my hair.
My hairstyle was always the same in elementary, and for reasons I do not quite remember, it always had to be the same.
I never allowed it to be free, up in a slick back high pony tail, if there was ever a flyaway it would be quickly combed down and secured.
I felt some kind of security in having my hair tied up. Although that comfort was taken away at the start of middle school and many know why.
Long before middle school, my enemies used to only be hair ties. My hair, so long and thick, they would always break unable to hold it all.
It surprises me how the times have changed, school and broken hair ties are now the least of my concerns.
Today, due to much loss, I dread running brushes and combs through my hair. For they, along with the shower drains, are enemies now.
My hair, so brittle and weak, with just the slightest pull of my fingers the stands so easily split and break apart.
Dull and lifeless, there isn't a single strand without a split end. Those thick curling locks are gone and replaced with a mess of thin crumbling wisps.
I no longer recognize the strands of hair I gaze upon. It pains me when I realize where the roots of something so dreadful is growing from.
I don't quite know or understand how it got this way, but I do know this is not me. This can't be me. Something had to be done.
After digging through an old drawer, I found what I needed. With a pair of scissors in hand, I decided it was time.
Time to find me.