When You Left

29

12. 06. 13.

        I cut my hair today.

        I spent all of yesterday crying about you with that girl. Truly pathetic, I know. And I just woke up this morning and looked in the mirror at my long blonde locks. I just kept thinking about how much you loved it.

        How you used to always play with, yank on, and entangle your hand into it, and I felt like I was going to vomit.

        So, I hoped on a bus into the city and chopped it all off, and continued to chop it off until the once lengthy hair rests now on my collarbone. As I shed that hair and watched it fall onto the linoleum, it felt like I was shedding the girl I used to be before I met you, like I was shedding the girl I became after you left.

        I gave up whiskey last night after getting sick. I stopped watching crime shows and eating ice cream as my nightly ritual. I threw out my sweatpants. I tried smiling and socializing with customers more. I signed up for classes at a local art studio. I shed everything that reminded me of you: your clothes, your coffee mug, and your safety cigarettes. I became a girl that you had never met. Someone I could be proud of. Someone you wouldn’t recognize.

        And let me tell you something, it was fucking freeing.

When will I shed you?

Daisy