want

I want to not want things.

i want to want my mother’s hair, a thin halo of hair around her head, like it’s the idea of hair, like it says “I was hair once. Now I’m clouds.”

but the only part of me that wants to be young forever is my hair. it can be grey, i’d prefer it that way, but i want it to be full and long, shiny and thick with secrets. I want to be able to braid it in long strands down my back. i want it to say something about me. what? i’m still figuring that out.

but everyday it gets the claw because we don’t have time for mystery, intrigue and styling lotions at the crack of dawn. you get the claw so i can get the coffee.