“Let me just get one,” he says, as he looks at me from above.
\n“Leave it. Otherwise it’ll grow in and stick straight up,” I reply, yanking my head this way, and that.<\/p>\n
**<\/p>\n
“Why didn’t you tell me about the streak\/patch of grays?” I ask.
\n“I like your gray hairs,” she replies. She is earnest.
\nI am like fuckin’ Stacy London over here.<\/p>\n
**<\/p>\n
“There are just so many,” they say.
\n“I know.” I say back. I smile. I run my fingers through my hair.<\/p>\n
**<\/p>\n
“Should I dye it for the wedding?” I think aloud as I look in the mirror.
\nI pull it back. Worse. I put it down.<\/p>\n
**<\/p>\n
They are my battle scars. They are my experience.
\nThey are my tales. They are me.<\/p>\n
**<\/p>\n
I’m not going to dye it<\/em>, I think. Not me. I am proud.<\/em> **<\/p>\n There is a streak, in my bangs. It is five hairs, maybe more. **<\/p>\n You may give me gray hairs before my time… <\/p>\n <\/p>\n <\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":" “Let me just get one,” he says, as he looks at me from above. “Leave it. Otherwise it’ll grow in and stick straight up,” I reply, yanking my head this way, and that. ** “Why didn’t you tell me about … Continue reading
\nI smooth down the curly ones, looking in the mirror.<\/p>\n
\nIt is cool<\/em>, I tell myself. Hipster even<\/em> (though I do not strive for this status.)<\/p>\n
\n(so kiss me when you come home, on my lips)<\/p>\n