"Her hair reminds me of a warm safe place
Where as a child I'd hide
And pray for the thunder and the rain
To quietly pass me by"
There was something about her hair... Something I could never pin-point.
It could have been their colour - black like the darkest night.
It could have been their shine - like the moon shines on a cloudless night.
It could have been the way they smelt - enthralling and intoxicating.
It could have been the way they felt - soft and tender like the finest cotton.
It could have been the way they let the wind flirt with them.
It could have been the manner in which they fell over her face.
They would appear so perfectly organised at times, I'd feel scared to touch them.
And at times they'd take up a form so tussled, I'd feel an involuntary urge to help fix them.
I loved they way they curled suddenly, about midway down their length.
As if she was bored of the monotony, and want to bring about a change as abruptly as possible.
Her hair reflected her persona - composed and confident, peurile and barmy, spoilt and recalcitrant - the craziest mix I have ever come across.
I loved toying with her hair - I would be at my playful best.
The sight of her walking on a beach would leave me in a frenzy: The wind toying with her hair - tossing it about playfully. She would try to tame the wind many a times before she would finslly accept defeat. The shortlived grimace on her face would give way to the most cherubic of smiles - one which would turn a lover into a zealous fanatic.
It's funny how her hair played a very significant part in my life - way more than she ever realized. They symbolized the continuity of our togetherness, in a manner which was rational only to me. I had bestowed upon them, the role of being the umbilical cord which would connect me to her in the after life...
"Her hair reminds me of the eternal place
Where in the end I'd lie
And pray for hurt and the pain
To quickly pass me by"