A calling;

I want to cut my hair, and dye it a deep, rich brown. I want layers, and angles, and thickness that will flow freely through your fingertips.

Maybe it's because I can't appreciate myself for who I am anymore. I want to grow, and I want all this change and stress to flow from my roots.

Maybe it's just an excuse for you to touch me more, to put your strong hands through my hair, to cradle my head while I feel so lightheaded and fragile. To pull me towards your chest so I can rest my head right below your chin, in the crook of your neck, and I can try and breathe as my head swells with thoughts.

I'll find the perfect dye today, at work, and I'll talk to the man from the salon upstairs. He always makes conversation with me, each day he comes to buy his dinner. I'll tell him my idea, and he'll give me his opinion. We always speak of change, and how its such a good thing.

With all this change, I think I'll be ready to make my big escape. I'll load my things into your truck, and I'll disappear. It will be your bed I'm vacating, and your head I'm consuming. We'll start our lives together, finally on firm foundation, and I'll always be there.



Day two