you can’t wait to wash the curls out.
they don’t feel like you. you’ve always been more of a wave, slowly rolling, over and over, pushing some things out, pulling some things in. you like your hair to match your spirit – wild, messy, not too perfect.
you thought the curls would lift your spirits, but they just made you feel less like you. it was the perfect cold weather occasion, but you couldn’t shake the thought that you weren’t where you were meant to be.
so you’ll rinse the curls out, stand under the scalding hot water, let it strip away all the secrets you tried to hide in your hair, and start fresh. isn’t that the way it’s meant to be this time of year, anyway?