like us

Girls like us all cut our hair.  You could strike a match off of those new-found cheek bones.  You could drop a quarter down those eyes and never hear it hit bottom.

Girls like us, we all cut our hair.  We're all the same.  You can find us anywhere and our worlds are always entirely brand-new.  We've all got some quirk or need or fragile point of view.  Some animal or affinity for fine wine.  Accidentally independent and asking without asking.

And we'll grow it back eventually.  Out of rebellion or defeat or some holy combination.  We'll grow it back to disappear into.  Grow it back  when it's not good enough to be ourselves anymore.  Grow it back so there's more to play with, more to tease, more to pull when he doesn't seem to see you anymore.  It will be a long, drawn out resignation and, in the end, a victory.

Girls like us all cut our hair.  You can look for it like a marker.  Some flag of readiness.  An opening of the blinds. You'll see it in the wit and wonder.  The big-eyed curiosity.  Easy to laugh.  Clumsy.   You saw her in me.  You'll see me in her too.  You'll find this kind of girl in every girl that you find.  She's the same and her world is always new. When I see them, I recognize them too.

And someday it will feel like they have nothing to do with you.