Lessons About Love I Learned From My Hair
It’s five days after our breakup. My cheeks and eyes are bleeding colors, matching pinks, indistinguishable from the other. I pull my hair back to keep the tears away from it, and since my bedroom has become suffocatingly hot. In these last few days, we fought every night, each argument ending with his pleas for reconciliation. I feel as if my bed will remember my shape better than he ever will, and I realize that my hair has lost its shape as well.
