therapy

» bangs

"I'm going to do it." She stared at herself in the mirror. Her face was fifty percent bangs and fifty percent face. This was her look for the past seventeen years. The number eighteen bore into her skin and tugged at her strings, drilling one word over and over inside of her. Adult.

The day before she heard a girl mutter a few words that stroke her ever so harshly. If you have bangs at this age, you look stupid. It's like grow up, you're not in middle school. Sure, the girl was talking to a teacher about the ever so interesting topic of hair but that one glance. That hesitant glance from the girl's eyes triggered the storm.

"Why did she look at me right after those words left her mouth? Is it because she was hinting that I look stupid? I mean, I'm not denying it. I've always looked.."

I walked in and her voice abruptly ended, a chill waltzed up the wall. "What are you doing?"

"Cutting my bangs."

"Why?"

"I don't look good with them."

"Who said?"

"It's obvious."

"Nah, you're one of the few people I know that can actually pull off the blunt bangs look. It looks nice on you."

"You lie ever so gracefully." She brushed them back and held a hand over them, getting adjusted to how she'll look without them.

"Another woman's beauty is not the lack of yours."