We're fighting again. Worse than usual. I grow you like hair and cut you off when I get scared. Could you love me when I get scared? My heart is heavy with the normal of it all. But it isn't right, what we do to your body, the fights we get into, the screaming matches, holding matches -scatches I mean-.
It isn't like you darling, I remember when you were kind, your easy smile and soft silky words- hair i mean-.
Our friendship is shifting, you cry and brush off my comfort with sharp scissors. We get on each others nerves- hair i mean- we step on strands and count bruises.
I asked for an explanation- a trim i mean- and you grabbed a fist of my hair ripping it to an uneven cut they all thought was my choice.
To say I miss the old you sounds clichè. My memory scrambled from many fights. I miss the old you- my old hair i mean-
I don't need you to judge me, I just need you to love me.
When we fight and I saw you with the scissors, I can't believe I spent a morning trying to tell you I'm sorry about yesterday.
I blanked our friendship for so many years, I shoved and forgot to talk- brush my hair I mean-. Now what was a red string tied around our pinkies is just a tangled mess of webbed history- mess of hair I mean.
YOU ARE READING
Portals To Another World
Short StoryHey so these are random short stories,,, pick a title that plucks at your curiosity when you're bored yknow - striving to recreate the feeling of flying -
