Hair

“Are you joining me?”

Her hair smells like the ocean. It is fluffy and salt-flecked. She loves swimming, spending entire afternoons in the warm water. I envy her her enchantment by this activity. I get tired after an hour at most, stepping out to watch her from the beach, seeing her bop up and down and occasionally disappearing.

A blue speck that is the receptacle and the fruition of my romantic dreams, I keep an eye on her she will come back to me alive.


“Will you snuggle me?”

Her hair smells of shisha after a rare night out with her family and friends – fruity, smoky and faintly synthetic. Her breath is hot wine and I can almost touch the pheromones in her sweat.

There is an aura of excitement about her, a near-electric glow. From the stratosphere, she is back home to discharge, back to earth where she can be reserved and cool again. She asks if I would like her to shower before she joins me in bed. I tell her she does not have to. I like this feral version of her.


“I don’t want to wake up.”

Her body smells sweetly human and faintly soapy. The usual bouquet of her hair has been drowned out by her aliveness. It is a lazy weekend. We have slept in. The room smells hot and organic like soil dug up and left in the sun.

As she turns-tosses in search of comfort, her hair takes on its own life. A many-tentacled beast recalcitrant to her demands, it covers her face. I push it away with my fingers. She threatens to cut it, as she always does when it gets in the way of her sleep. I shudder a little.

I love her hair.

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In chaos, freedom. In weightlessness, flight

When a plane takes off, there is an instance of weightlessness. You may have felt it, when you are heaved off the ground and feel like you are floating in your seat for a fraction of a second.

I liken that moment to the balance between entropy and serenity, the sliver of grey between the white of a life figured out and the black of a confusing world. In that hair’s breadth of time anything seems possible.

In that space, the unsaid things do not lay heavy and frightening in their magnitude. The dark emotions and the thoughts we strive to hide and subdue come alive. They hold no fears or judgements.

Anything is probable when there is nothing behind or ahead, when the earth and sky both fall away leaving you suspended. At these times, I sense moving into and out of myself, at once consumed by the moment, and also disembodied, watching from a not-too-high vantage point.

Sometimes I long for chaos, the purging that leaves a clean slate on which to start again, to recommence what in its own way is still a beautiful life.