The truth of the matter is that I love long hair and want long hair but hate that men love and want long hair, because of the expectation of it all. But also I love it, when I have it.
The truth of the matter is that I'm not the type of girl who colors her hair. And I'm certainly not the type of girl who smokes cloves, or anything at all. I'm not the sort of girl who throws parties on the weekends or even goes to others'. I'm not the sort of girl who even gets invited.
I've put up this facade with this haircut. The don't-mess-with-me facade, the I'm-hipper-than-you facade, the one that makes people think I care.
But I don't care. I want to tie my hair back like the old days, when I sit down to write. I want him to be there and notice and love it, my little quirks as I prepare to bare my soul, not in bed, but on a computer screen; on a printed sheet of paper that tells the story of the girl I am.
