Sometimes I want to shave every hair attached to my scalp because at night when my head hits the pillow I smell his finger tips. Countless nights claws just running through it like a 10k marathon, it never ends. It’s like each strand is a different memory, a different feeling they just fall in my face constantly, rubbing my face, your fingers. The scent lingers, on and on. It smells like home. Though all that’s left of home is the scent, the memories that for dear life, cling to my head. Forever engraved in my head. Encrusted in my brain. Clogging the arteries in my heart like hair does, the shower drain. It swings back and forth like my mood. It has grown with me through this journey, and now it almost touches the ground. I can still hear the bitter sweet sound “I love you.” I think it’s time I cut it now, because the ends are surely splitting now, and i’ve never been one to live in the past, i’ll never forget, i’ll never forget. The blade runs through my golden locks, like the sharpest blades of grass, just as your fingers did once before. All the hair falls to the floor. Like the rain from the sky, like the tears from my eyes, an all too familiar yet freeing feeling.