12 June 2015
SB
The tips of my shaggy hair are faded purple.
Brown creeps back in, my normal;
the me that exists with and without you.
I long for normal, but grief doesn't work that way.
You’ll never laugh at my crazy hair,
never take my face in your hands again,
say my full name. No one else uses my full name.
How will I remember it?
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