She begins to gather her hair, making sure not to miss a single fiery tendril and secures the strands with her favorite yellow hair tie that she can wrap around her thin stream of hair nearly four times. Sheβs afraid The worn circlet of elastic Might snap soon.
The widening yellow band has known six years of hairstyles:
the super high tail worn while cheerleading back in high school that waved like a flag while jumping in unison into the splits-
the tie off to the side of the base of her neck holding back her perfectly curled twists for her first date with her future husband-
the sensible low tail that she wore to the job she hated as a librarian because it was not what she wanted to do. She wanted to write.
The glued in place up-do She wore to her wedding. Her mother cried Because of how beautiful she looked.
The first time he didnβt show to the poetry reading she worked so hard to get into.
The late nights of being tied in a messy, asymmetrical bun when he claimed to be working late but she knew he was with someone else.
To now, when she is leaving him with her hair half up.
But as she gathers her hair one last time, the bind snaps. Instead of searching for another she decides to let her tresses flow, cascading down her back.