my hair

when I was a younger man, I was known for my hair.

my hair wasn’t out of the ordinary. it wasn’t anything crazy, and yet somehow, it was.

it used to grow in all directions. it was too thick to brush without a little bit of wincing. it would curl into my ears, into my eyeballs, up the back of my neck. the top of my head was a two ton thick ivy of red and brown. my hairs had hairs, and their hairs had hairs, and their hairs had ha…

my hair was unmanageable and unpredictable in the way a young kid’s hair always seemed to be: vibrant, wild, effortlessly carefree.

my hair now isn’t anything like it was when i was younger. it’s not going away or anything like that (i haven’t grown that old quite yet.) it has just changed. it just seems to have fallen flat, lost some of its shine, some of its old school vibrance.

is it because i’m getting older? is it my shampoo? what about my conditioner? how’s my scalp? my environment? genetics? come to think of it my dad doesn’t have a lot of ha–

the mound of hair on the top of my head was a load to manage, but man, would it make the ladies in the local barber shop talk. “what a beautiful head of hair.” “this thickness will never go away.” “i wish i had head of hair like yours.”

a hurricane of hair would rage on the ground below, growing stronger with each snip. and every two months, the hurricane would return.

i hadn’t been to that barbershop in a long time. i can’t remember the last time i had a proper haircut.

i wish i had hair like me too. it hasn’t looked the same in two years.