I Don't Have Attachments

I don’t have attachments.

No really, I don't!

Not to physical objects,

Not to living things.

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My hair, for example,

I don’t have an attachment to my hair;

I will never cry after getting my haircut

But I won’t get it dyed.

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Hey, I like its natural texture.

I don’t have attachments, I'll prove it;

I can lend you all of my favorite books

But don’t you dare bend the corners.

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Okay but look,

I don’t have attachments;

My mom’s birthday is not my phone password

But her favorite number is, 17.

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This one is good,

I don’t even have an attachment to memories;

I can’t remember what I ate for breakfast

But the day you left I know what outfit you wore.

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I swear, this will make sense now,

I don’t have attachments;

Because when you left, I was fine

But I did dye my hair.

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Fine.

Fine.

Fine.

You’re right.

I have attachments.

There’s nothing wrong with needing comfort.

Security.

Patterns.

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Maybe what I have

An attachment to most

Is lying.

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Because when you left,

I wasn't fine.

You were my comfort.

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Did you really have to

Make me say it aloud?