My Voice

Sometimes, I look down at how long my hair is - run my fingers through it to the very ends - and wonder how long it's been with me. How many years of life brush my shoulders every day? How many tears have rolled down these strands? How many times have I anxiously twirled my fingers around these locks in anticipation of seeing someone I loved? Perhaps my soul is far too sentimental but I guess I wouldn't have it any other way.