The Abscence Of

Once upon a time I used to have long, long hair. It was magical and everlasting. I would run my fingers through it and it would never seem to end. It provided me warmth in the winter, a sanctuary when I wanted to inhale softly and think of pretty words and a hiding spot when tears escaped my eyes. I would wear it down wherever I went, no matter the weather and always made sure to comb it with extra caution before laying down to dream at night. Sometimes I would braid a little section and pin it behind my ear. I was like a free spirit walking around with my hair flowing behind me and my flowy dresses and my almost bare feet. But then there came a time when my life turned to shades of gray. Life became harder and the realities of loss soaked into every pore of me. Eventually, they crawled into every strand of my long hair. I became desperate; I wanted so much to feel lightness, to shed away the mournful layer that had attached to my being. So I decided a pair of sharp scissors would fix everything and before I knew it, I was light as a feather. But now I miss the strands that would drape around me. I run my fingers through my hair and before I even reach my shoulders I find bitter air that nestles between the crevices of shoulders. I sit down and envy the fairies and the mermaids whose locks of gold and silver sweep past their shoulders and dance around their bodies.
I want my hair to grow, grow, grow.
I miss you hair. Please grow again so that I can hide between locks, so that I can run my fingers through the golden strands and never have to stop.