My mother’s hair was always “streaky”
She has a good jawline and lips and eyes all sort of falling together perfect so in geometry
I think the problem was that we were meant to be more, her hair was meant to be more, she was always dying it and adding highlights and making nails into artifacts, she was always working and working and working for the things me and my brother wanted
She wanted tomorrow
I was there now and looking back at her in her perfect reflections
Just lay-lady-lay and pull me up next to you and we can put the covers over our heads making a fort if you will, place where work doesn’t exist
Don’t go chasing that shit, it’s not a matter of working harder, of trying harder, of loving more. It’s the little things.
My dad saw it a mile away, like he didn’t exist, she was always looking past things.
(hold on, i got to go)
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