Hair

It's late at night and I'm lying in bed trying to fall asleep. I have just had a shower and my hair is still wet; I comb it with my fingers. It is short, comfortable, yet I think about letting it grow, about having long hair again. Every now and then I think about growing my short cut out, but I can never compromise. It would be nice having long hair again, however. Nicer still having someone who would play with it while lying by my side in bed. Someone who plays with my hair and loves me, and looks at me as if I were the best thing in the world. Someone who takes of my clothes with the same expectation as a child opening a present on Christmas. Someone who squeezes my hand in reassurance. 

My fingers get tangled in my hair and I can smell the shampoo on them. I definitely should let my hair grow, have it tickle my back and my shoulders. Hide my face behind it when I'm too shy for a direct stare, and have someone put it behind my ears telling me off because they can't see my eyes. And smile through all that tangled hair. Go to the beach and let it dry, wild, untamed, full of sea salt, blond and red streaks after the sun has kissed it. And braid it when it's hot. And spread it over the pillow at night. And tangle my fingers in it. And have someone else tangle their fingers in it. 

I should let my hair grow.