I always fall in love with my hair, like really love it just the way it is, the day before I have a haircut scheduled. I wonder if this speaks volumes about me. I love the thing that is about to change. I love it more the second before it leaves my fingers.
The last note of my favorite song, the last fall leaf hanging on a tree, the twinkling space of time right before someone I love boards a plane and flies away from me. I love these moments harder than any that came before.
But maybe it was just the wind today. The way it seized my hair up and away, around my head and back again so that when I walked in the front door and glimpsed myself in the mirror, my hair lay perfectly haphazard, wild as a barbarian, one blonde piece falling in my face, the rest in a mess about my shoulders.
Maybe, I just love a mess.