In the bathroom mirror, I watched his fingers carefully untangle my ends and make way to my roots. The tenderness mimicked a slow peck: poised, unhurried, precise. It was the sort of grace I thought I gave my hair but at that moment realized I didn’t, and maybe never had.
My morning routine offered compassion to my T-zone and its dry patches, offered time to my lash lines and their wont for bold cat eyes. But as for my hair, I was often impatient, tactless, lacking the due care for its needs.
Jeez, no wonder Matty and Ezra left…..